The Divorce is Final

No, not THAT, silly readers!

The divorce of which The Curmudgeon writes is the marriage of convenience that started in 1988 between your correspondent and Comcast, which for nearly 30 years was the only game in town (in two towns, actually) thanks to politicians who would rather serve their own interests than those of their constituents.

Like most shotgun marriages it was rocky from the start, marked by unfilled and unfulfilled promises, indifference, and the occasional angry word; for a few personal examples go here, here, and here. In the end, like most prisoners of a bad marriage, The Curmudgeon escaped at the very first opportunity to do so. According to the receipt The Curmudgeon holds in his hand as he writes this – he’s considering getting it framed – the judge – okay, the clerk at the Comcast store – declared the marriage over at 12:22 p.m. last Friday.

And the freedom feels so, so very sweet!

(And just so you know, you skeptics you, that other marriage is now nearly 11 months old, she hasn’t tired of The Curmudgeon’s nonsense yet, and it’s going absolute gangbusters.)

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