This image was lost some time after publication.

It's been months since Renee Zellweger filed the legal papers to erase her marriage to Kenny "We Still Have No Idea Who He Is" Chesney, one of the briefest and most pointless Hollywood unions ever conceived, but something was still bothering us. Like the barely perceptible irritation of a long-ago-squashed pea under our mattress, the phantom itch of an amputee's missing limb, or the slightest whiff of an ex-lover's perfume on a frequently washed pillowcase, the aborted connection between America's favorite scrunchy-faced darling and the semianonymous guy in the black cowboy hat somehow persisted. Then, suddenly: nothing. No waking from nightsweats from reciting poignant dialogue from A Price Above Rubies, or from the uncomfortable tumescence of a REM reenactment of that erotic, groupie-sex-in-the-break-room scene in Empire Records. Finally, with a few strokes of a judge's pen on the annulment order, we have closure.