(After my tirade, I would like to bring you all the world premiere of the very first Anna Nicole Smith Joke Ever...)
When asked by a reporter what she wore to bed, Marilyn Monroe responded, "Chanel No. 5"
So the weird thing about Anna Nicole Smith's timely death, (and, really, who didn't see that coming?) is the bewildered outpouring of commentary from the news media. Usually, when a public figure passes on, there's a respectful commentary on the person's life, and the accomplishments they have achieved that put them into the spotlight. Indeed, in the case of Princess Diana, it was if the news was trying to make me upset that my own mother had suddenly passed on. In Anna Nicole Smith's case, it looked like the news was hoisted by its own petard. You'd get the somber information, told in a respectful tone, then abruptly, when they tried to recap her life achievements, wandered into a equivocal swamp. Imagine, if you will, the grim scene around the desk at CNN...
"How the hell can we put any type of spin on this? Outside of showing off her titties and being a gold digger, what ever did this bimbo accomplish in her life? Aw, man, nothing we say is not gonna come across as a gloat! Jeez, you know some divorced thirty-something female newscaster in one of our red-state affiliates is gonna have some snide comment shoot out of her mouth.."
Well, you know what a Pollyanna I am, and how I always manage to find the silver lining in every cloud... If the U.S. wants to invade Iran, now's the time to do it! Imagine the flood of relief on that senator's face (you know, the one that was under investigation for allegedly killing an intern.) when 9/11 happened.
Here's the thing about being famous for being famous: In the basic, fundamental sense of the word, no one really gives a shit about you. Even a borderline retard like Smith knew it, which is why she kept scrabbling at the spotlight with the same level of desperation that a drowning man grabs for a floating hunk of wood. And, man, 'famous for being famous' seems to be at an all time high these days, isn't it? Britney Spears, Lindsey Lohan, Courtney Love... and Paris Fucking Hilton. Didn't fame used to mean something at some point? You'd achieve a consistent level of excellence in your field, a position you'd achieve after years and years of dedication and sacrifice in achieving your goals, and after you died, darker aspects of your person would come out, like your kids would say, "Sure, they were a brilliant politician/actor/musician/sportsman, but at the cost of their personal happiness", thus underlining the high maintenance cost that excellence brings with it.
On the plus side, you just know Paris Hilton is, at this very moment, pumping her fist, yelling "whoo-hoo", and making mean comments to everyone she knows. "Oh, I'm so glad that fat bitch keeled over!" And next week, she'll be at the funeral, wiping fake tears from her eyes. Oh, shit, Anna's funeral, I almost forgot! What do you wanna bet two days after the service, Florida police catch a couple of creepy troll guys who try to dig up her grave so's they can have sex with her corpse? Isn't that oddly appropriate?
And here's Fame's reward, in a nutshell: You get to go into a club that most people can't get into, no matter what, and you get to go behind the velvet rope into the V.I.P room where loud, shitty dance music is playing, and you get to drink watered down $50 vodka martinis, and you stand around with a bunch of other 'famous' people, and make small talk (well, try to; that music's pretty loud). After a few hours, you head on home, bored, drunk, stoned, and depressed. If you go home with someone, the sex is perfunctory and joyless, and you wind up sitting on the edge of the bed, emotionlessly watching the t.v. And there you are on E! news! "So-and-so was at the exclusive Bla-bla club tonight! They came in with this famous person, and left with this other famous person! Is a romantic battle-royale in the future for this unhappy menage-a-trois? Stay tuned!"
And that's it! That's your big reward! It's all downhill from here, baby! From here on in, it's lawsuits, divorce hearings, drug and booze addictions, bankruptcy court, doing humiliating info-mercials to pay your legal fees, public outbursts, arrests, suspended sentences, rehab, 30-day jail time, and so on and so on until your nude, bloated body is found in an alley covered in blood, vomit, and love fluids. And the first person to discover you has taken your watch. "This'll fetch quite a sum on e-bay!"
The upside: I can hardly wait for when Paris Hilton is found dead! (in about eighteen months) Aww, her post-mortem coverage is gonna make Anna's look like the Pope's! By that time, CNN, ABC, CBS, MSNBC and everyone else is just gonna give up on the 'respect' angle...
"STUPID, CALLOUS, WORTHLESS HEIRESS FOUND NUDE, FAT, DEAD." "Um, looks like 'famed' Hilton heiress Paris Hilton choked to death on someone else's vomit last night. But not before she slipped on a puke trail in her bathroom, and broke her neck landing face first into her toilet bowl. Then her pet dog ate her calf muscle. It was an eerie similarity to the death of '30's actress Lupe Lopez except for one humiliating detail. Earlier that night, she had tried masturbating in her intoxicated state with an empty Cristal champagne bottle. Paramedics on the scene found the bottle sticking out of her genitals upon discovery of her corpse. The bottle was later sold on E-Bay for cool six figures to a Las Vegas-based online casino. Ah, fuggit.
We're done here."
So, what did Anna Nicole Smith wear to bed? Her own diet-pill-and-booze-and-drug laden vomit, obviously...
When asked by a reporter what she wore to bed, Marilyn Monroe responded, "Chanel No. 5"
So the weird thing about Anna Nicole Smith's timely death, (and, really, who didn't see that coming?) is the bewildered outpouring of commentary from the news media. Usually, when a public figure passes on, there's a respectful commentary on the person's life, and the accomplishments they have achieved that put them into the spotlight. Indeed, in the case of Princess Diana, it was if the news was trying to make me upset that my own mother had suddenly passed on. In Anna Nicole Smith's case, it looked like the news was hoisted by its own petard. You'd get the somber information, told in a respectful tone, then abruptly, when they tried to recap her life achievements, wandered into a equivocal swamp. Imagine, if you will, the grim scene around the desk at CNN...
"How the hell can we put any type of spin on this? Outside of showing off her titties and being a gold digger, what ever did this bimbo accomplish in her life? Aw, man, nothing we say is not gonna come across as a gloat! Jeez, you know some divorced thirty-something female newscaster in one of our red-state affiliates is gonna have some snide comment shoot out of her mouth.."
Well, you know what a Pollyanna I am, and how I always manage to find the silver lining in every cloud... If the U.S. wants to invade Iran, now's the time to do it! Imagine the flood of relief on that senator's face (you know, the one that was under investigation for allegedly killing an intern.) when 9/11 happened.
Here's the thing about being famous for being famous: In the basic, fundamental sense of the word, no one really gives a shit about you. Even a borderline retard like Smith knew it, which is why she kept scrabbling at the spotlight with the same level of desperation that a drowning man grabs for a floating hunk of wood. And, man, 'famous for being famous' seems to be at an all time high these days, isn't it? Britney Spears, Lindsey Lohan, Courtney Love... and Paris Fucking Hilton. Didn't fame used to mean something at some point? You'd achieve a consistent level of excellence in your field, a position you'd achieve after years and years of dedication and sacrifice in achieving your goals, and after you died, darker aspects of your person would come out, like your kids would say, "Sure, they were a brilliant politician/actor/musician/sportsman, but at the cost of their personal happiness", thus underlining the high maintenance cost that excellence brings with it.
On the plus side, you just know Paris Hilton is, at this very moment, pumping her fist, yelling "whoo-hoo", and making mean comments to everyone she knows. "Oh, I'm so glad that fat bitch keeled over!" And next week, she'll be at the funeral, wiping fake tears from her eyes. Oh, shit, Anna's funeral, I almost forgot! What do you wanna bet two days after the service, Florida police catch a couple of creepy troll guys who try to dig up her grave so's they can have sex with her corpse? Isn't that oddly appropriate?
And here's Fame's reward, in a nutshell: You get to go into a club that most people can't get into, no matter what, and you get to go behind the velvet rope into the V.I.P room where loud, shitty dance music is playing, and you get to drink watered down $50 vodka martinis, and you stand around with a bunch of other 'famous' people, and make small talk (well, try to; that music's pretty loud). After a few hours, you head on home, bored, drunk, stoned, and depressed. If you go home with someone, the sex is perfunctory and joyless, and you wind up sitting on the edge of the bed, emotionlessly watching the t.v. And there you are on E! news! "So-and-so was at the exclusive Bla-bla club tonight! They came in with this famous person, and left with this other famous person! Is a romantic battle-royale in the future for this unhappy menage-a-trois? Stay tuned!"
And that's it! That's your big reward! It's all downhill from here, baby! From here on in, it's lawsuits, divorce hearings, drug and booze addictions, bankruptcy court, doing humiliating info-mercials to pay your legal fees, public outbursts, arrests, suspended sentences, rehab, 30-day jail time, and so on and so on until your nude, bloated body is found in an alley covered in blood, vomit, and love fluids. And the first person to discover you has taken your watch. "This'll fetch quite a sum on e-bay!"
The upside: I can hardly wait for when Paris Hilton is found dead! (in about eighteen months) Aww, her post-mortem coverage is gonna make Anna's look like the Pope's! By that time, CNN, ABC, CBS, MSNBC and everyone else is just gonna give up on the 'respect' angle...
"STUPID, CALLOUS, WORTHLESS HEIRESS FOUND NUDE, FAT, DEAD." "Um, looks like 'famed' Hilton heiress Paris Hilton choked to death on someone else's vomit last night. But not before she slipped on a puke trail in her bathroom, and broke her neck landing face first into her toilet bowl. Then her pet dog ate her calf muscle. It was an eerie similarity to the death of '30's actress Lupe Lopez except for one humiliating detail. Earlier that night, she had tried masturbating in her intoxicated state with an empty Cristal champagne bottle. Paramedics on the scene found the bottle sticking out of her genitals upon discovery of her corpse. The bottle was later sold on E-Bay for cool six figures to a Las Vegas-based online casino. Ah, fuggit.
We're done here."
So, what did Anna Nicole Smith wear to bed? Her own diet-pill-and-booze-and-drug laden vomit, obviously...
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