you know that the woman on the right kicked the bucket, or you just returned from a trip to the rain forest. i caught news of anna nicole smith’s death on the radio the other day and up until now hadn’t given it much thought.
i mean sure, i wasn’t surprised to see it splattered all over the bathroom wall, so to speak, because this damn woman had been in the news every six months lately either pushing out babies, snorting TrimSpa, or stumbling through major cities drunk or stupid.
that’s just what famous people do these days.
oh, and they die.
i’m not sure yet which is best for their careers.
(although i think princess dianna’s demise proves that if famous and unwilling or unable to pop the pills, snort the horse tranqs, sleep with everyone, or punch someone else who’s famous…well…dying is your only real option to stay on the front page.)
anyway i’ve decided that losing anna might actually be a major social event in america’s history…i think we’ve lost a genuine icon, admirable for her accomplishments and representation of what it means to be american.
anna was born vickie hogan and her parents (this will shock you) got divorced before she turned two. her mom (shockingly) was married another five times.
vickie (anna) failed freshman year highschool, dropped out, and went to work at jim’s krispy fried chicken in mexia, texas, where she met her future first husband, billy wayne smith.
at jim’s krispy chicken
spelled with a ‘k’ because why not.
the shit is krispy!
they were married, anna had a kid at 18 (the kid who died last year) and she went on to work at wal-mart and red lobster.
if you have forgotten, we’re talking about anna nicole smith – a women worth millions of dollars and potential legal heir to half a billion dollars.
this is about as american as i can figure.
she (of course) was working in a strip club when she not only met a billionaire who decided to marry her (he 89, she 26) and began a long and successful modeling career that lasted through the late 90’s and in many ways defined Playboy and Hef’s empire while it lasted.
all while struggling to stay sober until noon and donning a stage name that acronyms suspiciously (and yet again, not surprisingly) as Anna NIcole Smith (ANIS).
i love when my strippers refer to their tailpipes.
she’s the perfect depiction of the glitzy (and deadly) american dream…she’s our marilyn monroe and ozzy osbourne all wrapped up into one high speed train wreck.
she’s the blond, celluloid depiction of our nation’s story, as we chase the future and run this poor planet into the ground.
our son is dead and we don’t know who the newborn’s daddy is.
anna, you lived the dream, and we watched you do it.
good luck at the pearly gates.