The Break-Up Artist

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# It doesn't matter who you are #

# I wish upon a shooting star #

# That you will be the one #

# Who comes to rescue me #

"I love you"-- the most powerful

phrase we utter as humans.

We hear it

at every stage of life,

and it always turns us

into kids again--

wild, playful and with limited

control of our bodily functions.

Love is a many splendored thing.

Love conquers all.

Love is eternal until it ends.

- He'll love it.

And that is where I come in.

Being in love is the bestest, even

better than recess. I love love.

My parents said they found love in the

back of a car and it helped create me.

Hi, Tyler. You look, like,

hotter than Zach Morris today.

I made you this.

Wow, Britney. Thanks.

I'm dumping you.

Heard you got cooties.

Britney has cooties!

Britney has cooties!

Britney has cooties!

Nuh-uh. I was gonna dump him anyways.

Britney has cooties!

Britney has cooties!

Britney has cooties!

Britney has cooties!

Um, sorry.

It's really catchy.

Love blows!

Love... blows.

You're a great person, but this

relationship just isn't working out.

It's time to move on...

for you,

for me, for us.

Sweetie, don't cry. This isn't good-bye.

Okay? It's hello--

hello to a new friendship.

Wait. Who are you again?

I'm Britney. Your ex-boyfriend,

Sean, hired me to dump you.

Oh, no.

It's nothing personal.

It's-- It's what I do.

I'm Britney Brooks,

the break-up artist.

But seriously, I mean, you

met him on a reality TV show.

You were doomed from day one.

So how'd it go?

She was a stage-three crier, Robyn. I

think I got tear stains on my Manolos.

Ohh. Okay, your next client's

name is Linda.

She needs to break

up with her boyfriend.

She can't stand being

in the same room with him.

Gary's just--

He's full of hot air.

He's a liar, huh?

No, no. He farts a lot,

and it's nasty.

Oh.

Wow. I mean, that was just

so clear and concise.

Even I want to break up

with me now.

Here. Um--

On the back

is Dr. Stein's number.

He's a gastroenterologist.

Why would I need a stomach doctor?

With your mother?

We're gonna need something

with sprinkles, stat.

Okay.

Look, Marissa,

I know that it hurts,

but that's what

I'm here for, okay?

Men think all their past

discrepancies will be forgiven...

with fresh roses

or chocolate nougats.

I like nougat.

- No! That's your emotion talking.

All right.

- Here's what you need to do.

First, you need to get through the five

emotional stages of post breakup-dom.

Stage one is denial.

He can't break up

with me because I rock.

Then anger.

That fool, how dare

he deny my rockiness.

Next is bargaining.

Well, you know, maybe if I

did more when we have sex,

he'd realize I rock.

Then depression.

Maybe I don't rock.

And finally, acceptance.

Screw him. I do rock.

Wow. I've never seen someone go

through all the five stages so quickly.

Honey, you're gonna

be fine.

With my mother!

Splitzville, Incorporated.

When you're done kissing him,

we'll start dissing him.

This is Tiffany.

How can I help? Yes.

And we're also running a weekly special on

our "It's not you, it's me" break-up motif.

Never ever wear silk to a break-up meeting,

especially when frosting is involved.

Clients looking to end it all

are unpredictable.

I mean, they're actually

thinking with their heart.

What's wrong with that?

The heart is a "special ed"

organ. It's not supposed to think.

And when you use something for the

wrong purpose, it usually breaks.

Ooh! Air kisses.

- Ashes.

Come on, Brit.

Ashley is your sister.

By blood only.

She's a spoiled, shallow brat...

with the metabolism

of a frickin' Russian gymnast.

I mean, her MySpace occupation

is "professional hottie."

Oh.

Oh, hey, Brit. We're going

clubbing tonight.

If you stop giving off that

Ellen vibe, you can come.

Why bother?

Ninety-nine percent of all relationships

end with someone being dumped.

And of the one percent who actually

get married, 50% end up divorced.

You have a half a hundredth percent

chance of being in a loving relationship.

Oh. Forgot. This is my boyfriend, Mike.

- Hi.

Ash's new B.F., huh?

Let me guess-- a plastic surgeon,

lawyer, movie producer?

No, I teach art to disadvantaged

kids at the Y.M.C.A.

Actually, you know what? I just

entered my kids in a mural contest.

The winner gets 250 grand,

which would fund us for a year.

So, if you guys ever have any

interest in coming to help us paint--

Mm-mmm.

- She's so cute, isn't she?

Are you gonna come

club with us, Mike?

No, I'm just here

to drop Ashley off.

I'm not actually

allowed to dance...

because of a medical condition

known as being Caucasian.

I've gotta go, sweetheart.

I miss you already.

Um, bye.

Really nice to meet

you guys. See ya.

Wow, Ash, not bad. This one

actually casts a shadow.

You'll be sick of him

by Friday.

You're just jealous 'cause a man in

my life doesn't require batteries.

Just once. Come out with us.

I ended a lot of relationships today.

Fine.

Uh, you're giving off the "I'm

not into dudes" vibe again, honey.

No, it's the "I just paid 11

bucks for a vodka cranberry" vibe.

Brit, these guys are from that new

MTV show I was telling you about.

They're rich and available.

Before you begin, you should know that I don't

find either of you the least bit attractive.

Oh. Okay, that was rude.

No, that was honest. Rude is trying to set

someone up who doesn't want to be set up.

Come on. Come, come.

Um, these guys aren't

drunk enough to hit on Brit.

Let's scare her up

a man.

Chick dancing, guys? No.

I'm not--

Hey, you're hot.

Have I seen you

someplace before?

Yeah. Yeah, you have.

- That's why I don't go there anymore.

- Yeah, totally!

Yeah.

Hey, where are you going?

Don't be so picky.

Stupid guys.

Stupid $11 drinks.

Hi. I'm looking

for Britney Brooks.

Look, the rumors are false. I'm not

looking for The L Word type action.

I'm so sorry it's late.

It's just-- It's my boyfriend. I--

It's okay. Come on in.

I'm a convenience store--

always open.

Rick is just

the most amazing guy.

I mean, he's so kind

and caring and sensitive.

And his body,

it's just sick!

I mean, he does yoga.

His Downward Dog, it's just--

it's just legendary.

I mean, I'm treating him like

dirt right now, like icky dirt,

not like that fancy, nutrient-rich

dirt that they sell at Home Depot.

Can't I just break up

with him in person?

It's a bad idea. Look, men

are genetically programmed...

with an ability to convince us that they can

change when we're just about to dump them,

that the second chance will be different

than the 12 others we've given them.

Listen. As an independent

third party,

I will be completely immune to all

his charms, pleas and pathetic cries.

I'm the break-up artist.

It's what I do.

Thank you.

How do you handle this business?

I mean, it's gotta be so depressing

dealing with everyone else's misery all day.

Strong humans like me have a duty to

help people who actually believe in love,

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