Brad Pitt Is A LIIIIIAAAAAR!

January 26, 2012 / Posted by:

Prepare yourself to know what it feels like to never trust anything that comes out of Brad Pitt’s mouth again (because I know that up until this point you hugged every word that came out of Brad Pitt’s mouth with warm arms of trust). Brad Pitt has regularly declared before the gay gods (aka a sculpture of Rojo Caliente riding a Liberace unicorn centaur down a flannel rainbow) that he will never slip a wedding band on Angie Jo’s bony finger until everybody in the U.S. can get married. Well, the bitch is a teller of lies.

As you and your same-sex partner wait at City Hall until it’s legal for you to file a marriage certificate, the asshole who vowed to stand with you until the end will whisk on by with his zombie vampira skeleton bride and cut in front of the line. RIGHT IN YOUR BETRAYED FACE. Because Brad tells The Hollywood Reporter that he’s probably going to break his promise by becoming Angie’s third husband:

“We’d actually like to, and it seems to mean more and more to our kids. We made this declaration some time ago that we weren’t going to do it till everyone can. But I don’t think we’ll be able to hold out. It means so much to my kids, and they ask a lot. And it means something to me, too, to make that kind of commitment.

I’m not going to go any further. But to be in love with someone and be raising a family with someone and want to make that commitment and not be able to is ludicrous, just ludicrous.”

I’m going to force myself to not get hypnotized by the fact that Brad’s goatee looks like an upright grandpa stache and an upside-down grandpa stache holding hands over a soul patch, because there’s more important matters at hand (not really). Brad has just proven that he cares about keeping his commitments as much as he cares about finding a shampoo for extra oily hair. (Seriously, Brad, it’s not hard. Just ask someone at Sally’s Beauty.) If Brad rips the notary stamp off the promise he made to gays and gayelles, how can Angie Jo trust that he won’t rip the notary stamp off the marital bowels (Oh, Freud, I love it when you trip me) he makes to her? Oh, wait.

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