Game, Set, Match…

Well, friends, it is with much sadness that I report that Enrique Iglesias and Anna Kournikova (mother of all things hot) have officially split.

It is, without a doubt, the biggest news of the weekend…aside, of course, from DJ Blowhan spinning everything from her Benz to court records all over the place.

Ballmaster Kournikova and Iglesias, the straight man’s Ricky Martin, had been dating for about 5 years or so.  The split marks an end to my hope of the two of them reproducing to form the single, most attractive young girl in the universe and me subsequently dating the shit out of her from age 3 until she turned 18, just so I could stake my claim.

I also held out hope that somewhere along the way I’d end up having a brief and tacit fling with the fire of my loins (Kournikova) and, perhaps, also hook up with Enrique (let’s be real here, people, he’s friggin sex and you know it- “Bailamos” ?  Sexiest song ever).

Yet, the romance was ill-fated.  I guess these two are just too unbelievably flawless to be with each other.  After all, isn’t it boring to be with your equal?  I would much rather be with a girl who I am vastly superior to…that way, she worships the ground that I walk on AND when we walk on the beach together and are photographed by paparazzi, I’m the one who looks better in the bikini.

Nevertheless, it’s sad to see this romance go.  To be honest, I actually kind of liked these two together.  It would have been nice to make a Bob sandwich with two slices of Kournikova buns smeared with Enrique-flavored love mustard.  But, it was just not meant to be.

(LOOK! Even Condie and Rummie want a piece of that delicious sex grinder!)

Instead, we get the revelation from Enrique that his penis just isn’t everything it should be.  No shit, Enrique.  If your penis was huge, you’d be jamming it into everything with a pulse.  As it is, the only reason you date someone when you’re 20-something and a billionaire is if you have a small penis….even if it is Anna Kournikova.  It’s also why you make a song called “Bailamos,” meaning “we dance,” instead of “Cogemos,” meaning “we take” (or, slangily, “we bump uglies”).

Time to retire the love armor, Enrique, and let your father give you that Roman Helmet he’s been promising you.

Still, props to you my friend.  You are smashing forehand winners with a wooden racket while the rest of us are hitting unforced errors with our graphite composite, “larger sweetspot” sticks.

(Notice all the dings and nicks taken out of this relic)
VS.

(Look at the V-Card on that second one!)
If there’s anything I can learn from you, it is that I could probably do a better job of throwing the hump down on Kournikova than you did.  And that makes me feel pretty good about things.

Best of luck to you in the future, Enrique.  And don’t worry…plenty of women are still willing to overlook the lack of wang for the surplus of money.  And for those that aren’t?  I’ll be there waiting to pick up the pieces.

Oh, but Enrique?
Nice job on giving this up.

Looks like she’s already moved on, huh?

~ by Bob on May 30, 2007.