“Hello, is this the sculptor who created the bronze middle-finger statue? I’d like to order twelve and have you engrave XOXO FALCOR on every one. Please have them delivered to Brandi Glanville.”
According to The Mirror, an extremely well-adjusted and rational Michigan man bought the house next-door to his ex-wife, solely for the purpose of erecting a giant middle finger aimed at her home:
Alan Markovitz, who owns a series of strip clubs in Detroit, spent $7,000 erecting the 12 foot tall bronze statue facing the house owned by ex-wife Lea Tuohy. But he says the middle finger salute isn’t aimed at her, but at her new partner – with whom she started an affair while she and Markovitz were still married. Markovitz told a local newspaper “I’m so over her. This is about him. This is about him not being a man.”
“This is about him not being a man.” Says the grown man with the $7000 middle finger on his back patio. What a dickhead; hopefully this will be the last we’ll hear from him. Oh shit, I spoke too soon…
Markovitz wrote an autobiography, modestly entitled Topless Prophet: The True Story of America’s Most Successful Gentleman’s Club Entrepreneur. He’s set to star in an HBO reality TV show with the same title in the new year.
Is there a Michigan cable-access version of HBO that I’m not aware of? But back to that stupid middle finger statue. Whatever happened to getting revenge on a side-piece by spray painting a dick on the hood of their car? Or calling up their employer with an anonymous tip that they’ve started smoking crystal meth before work? This story makes me nostalgic for the days when angry scorned hos used to call up Joey Greco and the Cheaters camera crew to settle things like real adults; by confronting their husband/wife in a Burger King parking lot and charging at your husband’s secretary to rip her weave off while trying not to spill your Big Gulp of Mountain Dew.
I’ll end on this unsettling thought: I just realized that that statue was bought with stripper money. Somewhere there’s a sculptor with $7000 in singles that reek of crotch sweat and sadness.
(Pic via Twitter)