When I first heard the news the Linda McCartney had died, I froze in my steps, paralyzed with a thought that I was too scared to believe:

Paul McCartney is available?

Woo-hoo! Hey, if anyone knows what it's like to date a Beatle, it's me! I've got 11 or 12 years of experience on the old marriage resume! And let me tell ya, it ain't half bad: Free money, instant celebrity, articles in Rolling Stone, and record contracts for the kids. Hey, sign me up! Again!

I mean, I'm sad she had to die or whatever, but that McCartney dude is a Beatle, and as far as I'm concerned, that makes him one fine-looking' piece of meat. And me with an empty grocery cart!

So where does this clown live? Scotland or some shit? Whatever. I'm there. Once I'm on the scene, that sucker will be running bed-ins by the weekend, mark my words.

Don't think I won't make that bum let me in the recording studio, either. You thought "Silly Love Songs" was annoying? Wait till you hear "Band on the Run" re-done with primal screams! Hey, it'll be an improvement, and both you and I know it.

I'm back, baby! You better believe it!