According to numerous publicists posing as anonymous insiders for crappy gossip magazines, Gwyneth Paltrow’s marriage to Gay Beethoven was on the rocks for years. Apparently, she didn’t give a twang who he nailed on the side or the fact he never attended any of her fame whore sucking events, though she did frequently mock the food he ate and ridiculed he dressed. I understand why the Coldplay frontman wanted to anger management a couple babies into Gywneth Paltrow. There but for the grace of God go the rest of us who stupidly dream of taming the shrew. But why would he stick around for ten more years of Gywneth flashing by in designer fashions and ripping on him for eating non macrobiotic. I guess it’s the kids or the high cost of Conscious Uncoupling or just the fact that Gwyneth let him bang her doppelgänger Kate Bosworth and would even change the organic potpourri scents in the bedroom between her visits. Much of these new broken marriage revelations shed light on why Gwyneth panicked so hard when Vanity Fair set out to do an expose on her. That story she later squelched along with Graydon Carter’s sensitive sac between her tapioca encrusted tentacles. There’s got to be tons of shit there beyond just her banging Elle Macpherson’s current amateur helicopter piloting husband. Murder? Money laundering? Or just the hellish daily drip of sustained bitchery that lead men to pray for an early grave. I don’t envy the people tasked with digging into Gwyneth’s dirty laundry. Most will end up with weird skin blistering ailments like the men who went in search of Tutankhamun’s burial treasures. But somebody’s got to get to the bottom of the more malevolent shit. You don’t just defeat your enemies and call it a day. You need your Nuremberg hangings.