I mean, I loved my wife more than anyone who has ever breathed air on this planet, but she had some glaring flaws. Anyway, she’s not around to bother me with them any more.

She took the kids with her, which is probably good, because although I loved them dearly, they had pretty weak room-cleaning policies and didn’t focus on potty training as much as I would have liked.

I ditched my shitty apartment and decided I’d rather live in a tent than settle for less than my dream home. So far, every application I’ve submitted for beachfront property in Malibu County has been rejected.

My ribs are beginning to show, because I just can’t bring myself to pay for any meal that isn’t almond crusted salmon with leeks and lemon cream.

I lost a few molars last week, because there’s no outlet for my electric toothbrush in this goddamned tent.

Even worse, the guys at all the major law firms keep laughing at me when I arrive for interviews on my hoverboard. It’s not my fault the Maserati dealership keeps calling the cops on me, you guys.

Sure, I’ll admit life may have been better for me if I had accepted some healthy degree of compromise or an understanding of incremental change, but hey, you gotta have principles.