For every door that closes, a new door opens. If you were a lousy husband/wife, all of a sudden you have a chance to be a great ex-husband/wife. If, by the end of your marriage, your spouse couldn’t stand the sight of you, now you have the opportunity to bring great joy by your absence. From every crummy marriage springs the possibility for a first rate divorce. In a truly great divorce every morning is Christmas…and YOU not being there is the gift!

And there’s this, of those marriages that do not end in divorce, there’s a certain percentage of them that end in murder or suicide. Eureka! That ain’t you. No powder burns on, or bullet holes in you, or your former beloved, a major victory.

Ten-percent of those in long marriages have admitted to considering one of these options. Of those who have actually taken the step to end his or her spouse's life or their own, half found it to be an unsatisfactory solution while, on the flip side, a surprising two-percent went on to patch things up and remarry that same person.

So, as you sit in your post-divorce hovel in the worst part of town, with nothing on the walls and a couple sticks of secondhand store furniture, you can look forward to all the happy marriages you have coming to you.

Lucky, lucky you!

There were no children accompanying the member’s wives. “Sure it works” observed another Senate spouse, “but we’re not sure if it could play in mainstream America.” She went on, “every American knows that few, if any, male members of Congress still posses the physical attributes necessary to perform the act in question, but it might be different outside the Beltway.”

Women across America were thrown into a homicidal rage at the fact that there wasn’t a single female on the committee, but all expressed solidarity with the Senate wives. “Can’t blame them for a second,” was the overall consensus, “look at those wet dishrags. The only thing that gets them excited is a fundraiser.”

In defense of the committee members, some staffers insisted that their bosses found Superpacs pretty darn exciting too. “And you should take a look at these guys when they see a lobbyist with a checkbook coming their way,” insisted a male aid, who seemed fairly excited just talking about it.

The baby lynx had escaped his enclosure and found his way to the koi pond exhibit. After hours of searching, the feline was discovered there by zoo staff, the cat gazing soulfully into the pond, eyes following little Charlie’s every move. It was instantly clear that the two young animals had bonded. Since then the two have been inseparable.

For a decade the duo, favorites of children and adults alike, have enchanted zoo goers with their antics. Leonard at his perch on the bank, would constantly dip his front paws into the water, trying desperately to pet, or “low five” his scaly best buddy, while Charlie would good-naturedly taunt him by darting to the far end of the pond, sometimes leaping entirely out of his watery home, and shooting Leonard a wide eyed look in a display of camaraderie.

Marine biologists are at a loss to explain how a thief could have made off with the three-foot long giant goldfish, without being detected. “It’s just sad, they had so many good years to look forward to,” Bowlton lamented.

While a lynx can live to 26 years, a carp can live up to 52 years and one legendary finner named Hanako is said to have reached the age of 226.

In a heartbreaking display of an animal mimicking human emotion, the grief stricken Leonard has been unable to eat for the three days since his pal’s theft, though his belly seems unusually distended, and somehow the lynx chow in his bowl had been replaced with tarter sauce.

When asked if the moon had a Lowes, a Home Depot or some other building materials supplier, a Gingrich spokesman replied that, “ in an effort to seem as environmentally sensitive as possible, the entire base will be built from indigenous materials, principally green cheese.” He went on to quip, “that way we can claim that we’re taking the “green” movement all the way to the moon. Although on earth it’s a pain in the butt and raises havoc with free enterprise and profit margins.”

High-end jeweler, Tiffany & Company, in support of one of its favorite customers, is issuing a commemorative charm depicting the former speaker mooning the American people.

Insiders claim that the concept for a moon colony originated with wife Calista, who is said to have been to the moon many times on her way to and from her home planet.

Rising to the challenge, in the spirit of one-upmanship, Presidential hopeful Mitt Romney has vowed to buy the moon, “with a little walkin' around money.” He went on, “I think we can leverage this pup, drive it into bankruptcy, destroy some jobs, and make several millions of dollars for myself and my partners in just a matter of months.” He chuckled, “So I guess you know what Newt can do with his green cheese.”

The Gingrich camp shot back that Newt’s pals at Fanny Mae and Freddie Mack hold the paper on the moon and that it isn’t for sale to Mitt Romney at any price.

However, sources at both mortgage giants suggested that, “there’s never any harm in kicking numbers around.”

Now, The Tattler is all in favor of belief. In fact, this reporter believes he’ll go for a pop after work and thinks it’s okay if there are Mayans out there performing human sacrifices… as long as they don’t come to his door to tell him about it. But there we were, no Heidi, not even Mayans.

“What have you done with Heidi?” I demanded, the first words out of my beak. They looked confused. “Heidi Klum, I’m sure she’s on her way over!” Their beaks were now hanging open, “We just have this literature we thought you might want to take a look at.” “Pictures of Heidi, perchance?” I speculated. “Well, no” they rejoined, “is this Heidi a dear friend?” I confessed, “I’ve never met the gal, but I feel change is in the wind.”

Things were going nowhere fast, “I see you have Bibles,” said I. “What do you mean by that?” they accused. “Merely an observation, would you like to come in and discuss theology while we wait for Heidi? Here, drink some of this.” They seemed uneasy and began to trot back to their vehicle.

“Keep an eye out, Heidi could be broken down on the side of the road,” I shouted after them as they sped out of my driveway, executing a nifty little fishtail/correction maneuver and merged into the flow of traffic.

So, here I sit. I fear I may not see my new friends again, and Heidi isn’t returning my calls. I understand Seal is ticked and there’s a lot of winter yet to go.