People, the world stage may be set for a full-blown economic meltdown, but there are simply more pressing matters at hand right now, Shanghai.
In today’s New York Post, Cindy Adams dropped this bombshell: “I have just seen Anna Nicole Smith’s diaries. I held them in my hands.” People, Cindy didn’t just spy the journals from across a room. She fondled them!!
And what did that intimate caress reveal?? Amongst other sordid details, it seems Anna was a poor speller. That’s right. Apparently, she thought “pneumonia” was spelled “namonia” and “immigrant” was spelled “emigrant.” Ha! What was she thinking??
Anna also ruminated about her problems with men, alcohol, sleeping pills and psychiatric meds, although there’s no indication whether she had trouble spelling words like “Bacardi” or “Clozapine.”
Finally, the diaries reveal she had some prior experience with the age-old “Who My Baby Daddy Is?” debate. Seems there was a question about how many men could have been the father of a pregnancy scare she had while she was with ol’ bag ‘o bones, late billionare Howard Marshall.
Circle of life, indeed. Because as we all know, yet another controversy is raging right now over who the father of her orphaned baby daughter could be.
Some guys on our homepage have a mildly amusing solution. Watch it and judge for yourself: Baby Daddy
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Publishers, if you’re think about printing these volumes of Anna Nicole wit and wisdom, please please tell the copy editor to simply put (sic) after every misspelling.
Then, have a contest where people can guess the number of (sic) like they were jelly beans in a jar. So much fun!
If a nightmare is an unpleasant dream and dreams are indeed figments of our brains’ overactive imaginations, then why did Anna Nicole Smith survive the treacherous trek out of her mother’s slip ‘n’ slide? Let’s discuss that, shall we?
While the location of said slip ‘n’ slide’s last sale is clear–a garage sale thrown because of some poor elderly man’s last ditch effort to finance his Vicodin addiction by auctioning off all of his dead grandchildren’s useless crap to the highest bidder–the location of Anna Nicole’s own slip ‘n’ slide’s last fertile transaction is not quite as evident.
Now, we can safely assume that this boundless stretch of vacuous pinkness had been–only when artificially lubricated–shared with all of the neighborhood children, most of their parents, and a large number of less privileged people such as janitors, trash men and prop-based comedians. While I would love to say that a paternity test would immediately tell us who fathered the loud-mouth wildebeest and her on-again-off-again lard collection vessel’s potential demon-child, I’m afraid that we would only discover that, because of the enormous amount of semen that had been stored and recycled in the cavernous depths of Ms. Smith’s flesh gully, a single father does not exist; rather, we should be searching for half of the male population of the world and a quarter of the female population and making a simple request to each of them: submit to our consciousness degradation experiment and join the universal consciousness, for each of us, in some way, is a father to it.
Well put, Majal. Should we all have been so lucky to have been part of the cosmic soup that was Anna’s disaster of a vagina.
It annoys me how people are still making a bigger deal over Anna Nicole Smith rather than the issues that are actually important, like the genocide in Darfur or the problems in the middle east or the growing nuclear independence in rouge states.
See theres something here that you jabberwinks just dont get~ abnd thats that u cant put crazy fingerprint loooking shit on the background of ur websites because if im trippin on the good shit(you know, the orphans blood) im bound to lose a fuckin gestalt in here. And then frankie bentero comes out of left field and trademarks the right to Itilian food, and Im like wtf man? Half that sub was mine!
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