Whenever I get desperate for a topic to write about here, I just go to Cosmo and use their current topics as a jumping off point. Usually, my advice differs from theirs entirely, but I can only assume that’s because their sex columnists are probably too busy having sex to come up with practical advice. This week they covered “The Three Rules Girls Should Follow to Get Over a Break-Up”… and once again, they totally fucked it up. No worries, though. I’m here to help.

Three Rules to Get Over a Break-Up:

1. You should probably burn down his house. But obviously not if you live together because your shit is in there, too. Instead, you should burn down the house of the girl he’s moving in with now. Unless the girl he’s moving in with is his mom. That’s kind of its own special punishment for both of them. Instead, just set fire to his mom’s lawn in the shape of his name and a very tiny penis.

2. Sleep with someone else. Preferably your married boss or a dangerous stalker. Or both. You’ll be too busy wondering why the hell you did something that stupid to even have time to miss your ex. Plus, you’ll probably get a raise. Which you’ll need in order to pay for the new alarm system and all those restraining orders. Well-played, my friend.

3. Break up with him first. Or better yet, just don’t get emotionally involved with anyone in the first place. Instead just go break up with someone you don’t really know, like the pharmacist at the drug store. You don’t even have to know what his name is. Just call him Simon. He’ll probably take it well, since he doesn’t actually know who you are, and you’ll feel fine afterward. Empowered even. Also you’ll probably get your prescriptions filled super-quick after that because you and Simon now have “a past.” And also because Simon now knows the value of getting you your meds as quickly as possible. Everyone wins.

If all else fails just get a bunch of cats. Like, enough that you can distract yourself by putting them into little costumes and making a live, all-cat version of Hello Dolly, but not so many that people start calling you “crazy cat lady”. More than 12, but less than 42. If you get to 42 cats, you’ve made a terrible mistake. Honestly, it’s no wonder he broke up with you. 42 cats is just fucking ridiculous.


(Editor's Note: We chose this picture of Jenny because she's with Hef, and seriously, who has had more break-ups than Hef? No one.)