Martha Stewart Says She Wishes Her Friends Would Die So She Could Fuck Their Hot Husbands — "Not Painfully, Just Die. But It Hasn't Worked Out."

Matt Winkelmeyer. Getty Images.

Pictured: Martha "Mrs. Steal Yo Husband" Stewart at home, after fucking your husband. (Getty)

It's not easy finding love. It's especially not easy finding love when you're an 80-year-old woman living in a society that values youth and vigor over timeless qualities like experience and refinement, where un-lined faces and plump lips and firm breasts and butts surgically enhanced so as to be unaffected by the laws of gravity serve as greater turn-ons than the natural decomposition of the elderly body.  And, as if that hill weren't steep enough for a senior citizen to climb, add to the mix the fact of being a global icon, a one-woman industry powerhouse whose earnings cracked the $1 billion mark and who somehow parlayed a prison stint for felony insider training into a career renaissance where she actually gained popularity.  A strong, successful, independently wealthy octogenarian: not a lot of men out there man enough to handle a woman like that.

So, what to do? For Martha Stewart, the answer was obvious — a tried-and-true strategy employed by The Horny of all ages since the dawn of civilization, with a success rate in the high-probability range for young and old alike who have been either unlucky in love or unwilling to make the effort to lock down a husband or wife, boyfriend or girlfriend: just fuck your friends'.  

MARTHA STEWART:  “I had two mad crushes in the last month, which is really good for me. But it turns out, you know, one of them is married to the mother of some friends of mine and I just — he’s so attractive.”

CHELSEA HANDLER: “You know, you can’t be a home wrecker.”

MS: “No, I’m not. I’ve never been a home wrecker. I’ve tried really hard not to be. I’ve had the opportunity to be home wrecker and I have not taken anybody up on it. And that’s really where — that’s where I meet men. They’re all married to friends of mine or something like that."

Let them do all the annoying and tedious legwork like "building a relationship" and "cultivating connection and trust over the long-term"; you just hang out in the background, laughing at jokes and putting on a show of how carefree and easygoing and just utterly uncomplicated you are. Make yourself the hamburger, and just wait for him to get sick of the steak at home.  Or more accurately, for the steak to go off the menu, because it died.

CH: “Well, it’s very difficult because I think there are certain ages we go through where it’s very tempting because you wanna believe that, ‘Oh, maybe this relationship that they’re in is temporary."

MS: “Or maybe they’ll die. I always think, oh gosh, couldn’t that person just die.”

CH: “The wife?” 

MS: “Yeah!  Not — not painfully.  Just die … But it, it hasn’t worked out.”

Usually going down this path comes with a bunch of tricky moral issues to contend with, on top of the more obvious dilemma of the fact you'll probably lose that friend (assuming they are opposed to being cucks).  Well here is where we arrive at the true beauty of old age: those friends will almost certainly die soon, statistically speaking. And what's the easiest way to avoid those awkward conversations and uncomfortable confrontations that come with getting piped by your best friend's partner?  When that person literally ceases to exist, because they are dead. 

So, Friends of Martha, consider this a warning: keep your man on a tight leash.  And if he comes back from that unscheduled last-minute Bingo game smelling like pussy and One Pan Pasta, you know the first place to look. 

Transcript via Mediate