Gay divorce: it’s not just for Melissa Etheridge anymore. Such is the case for the most recent refugees to Splitsville, Johnny Weir and Victor Voronov. The present tidal wave of gay matrimony brings with it the inevitability of gay divorce, and thus endless fodder for black-hearted gossipmongers such as myself. Celebrity divorce is a perennial bullseye for the blogosphere, but like everything else in this world, it is made infinitely more magical when it involves Johnny Weir.
At first it would seem that Voronov took my advice and got the hell away from Johnny before incurring irreversible scarring, but further time spent sifting through their train wreck reveals a man that may actually be the drama queen equivalent of Johnny Weir. If you can possibly fathom that. It took no time at all for Voronov to threaten with scandal should his former lover refuse him alimony and he made good on that threat. Among Voronov’s laundry list of now court-documented complaints is that Johnny cheated on him, caroused with porn stars, forced him out of the closet and totally acted like an absolute cunt-ass-bitch. (Alright, I added the last one myself, but you know damn well that was included in the first draft.)
I would like to focus on this alleged “outing” for a minute. What dumb motherfucker enters into a public relationship, much less marries, the Earth’s premiere Pretty-Pretty-Princess and later declares a forcible outing? Just being in the same room as Johnny Weir can make a Kinsey 4 into a full blown 6. Johnny Weir is gayer than Richard Simmons’ asshole. Are we to seriously buy that Victor Voronov was merely a bicurious introvert before accidentally falling into a relationship with the world’s Supreme Ice Princess? I call bullshit and I’m sure the court will, too.
Weir countered with his own set of allegations, namely that Voronov was a Stanley Kowalski-esque brute who drunkenly hounded him with the constant specter of abuse. As if it couldn’t possibly get any better, Voronov has since petitioned the court to demand the return of over 50 designer handbags, 2 Birkins and an entire closet full of designer fur. It’s like God just took a page out of my wet dreams and made it into reality. Dan Savage was right; it does get better. I had long feared that the gay community’s all-consuming obsession with marriage equality was little more than a tedious call to assimilation, but gay divorce has proven me wrong. If this is any indication, gay divorces will exceed their straight counterparts in both flamboyance and malice, and it leaves me in ecstasy.
As a final tantalizing tidbit, Johnny and Victor did not have a prenup. The filth and the fury has only just begun.