So I ran into my ex last night

...with his new chick. The only possibly worse scenario I can think of is having my armpit hair removed with fireants. It caught me completely off guard; but,now that I think about it, even if I had been given, say, a two week notice, I doubt the experience would have been more "pleasant." Tell me, what would you prefer: being hit by a bus and dragged 1000 feet by your eyeballs, or to be told you have a flesh-eating disease that will commence its annihilation of your epidermis in 10 days?

So anyway, they walk up and puke their happy couple hairball into my lap, then look at me expectantly. Ooh, will she flip out? Will she try to act cool? I did neither. Instead, I leaned over and whispered to the bartender that these two lovebirds were so happy I set them up that they're picking up the tab--for the entire bar. Then I made like a banana and split.