Damn! That's what I get for betting the longshot

Look, only Anna Nicole is more tired of this story than we are and she's dead. We all knew Larry was the father; but damn it, how badly did we want Zsa Zsa's crazy half-ass faux prince to be the papa. If you listen closely, you can hear Entertainment Tonight producers throwing themselves out their windows because this saga just took a hard right turn into snooze-ville. Ooh wait, there is the fight for the old man's money. Scratch that, I'm popping the popcorn now.

Yes world, Dannielynn is my child

Dear Cerebral Itch Scratch Pad readers,

As the controversy continues to build surrounding the paternity of Anna Nicole Smith's infant daughter, I am compelled to break my silence and join the legion of men who claim to be the child's father; for I am the child's true father: Dannielynn Hope Marshall is the fruit of my loins.

Anna Nicole and I had become quite close over the years. We met during a Deepak Chopra book signing at a Ft. Lauderdale Borders. She was being harassed by the patrons (pre-TrimSpa days) and Deepak was really no help. He and I had were already on shaky ground from an incident earlier that year where I had to extricate he and Tony Robbins from a Kabukicho sex-fantasy club in Tokyo, but I digress. Anna Nicole and I fled out the back of the bookstore and made it to a Denny's where we spent the rest of the night lost in conversation and grand slam specials. She spoke only of a life seared from the spotlight; a life where the spiritual and intellectual pursuits were unattainable. Where sycophants and capitalists had reduced her existence to one of a Nabokov protagonist trying to break free of the psychological bonds in a dystopic world; her words not mine. We said goodbye as the dawn came. We exchanged MySpace profile addresses and kissed. I must've stood in that parking lot for an hour after her taxi pulled away.

We met again in October '05 at the opening of Pure, a Las Vegas nightclub in the bowels of Caesar's Palace. I was battered and bruised from an unsuccessful tenure as joke writer for the Kerry presidential campaign and a newly cut American Idol semi-finalist. She was the radiant picture of health and lucidity that we all remember her being. She ran to me, lifted my chin with her gentle alabaster fingers and whispered "get me out of here and take me to the stars you silly sexy beast." I am proud to say, I did.

For the record, Mr. Stern was never spoken of in flattering terms, much less intimate ones. He was instrumental in seeing that our Las Vegas reunion was short-lived. Two-days later I woke up in the Nevada desert naked, with the message "stay away funny man or else" scrawled on my torso in powder blue Sharpie ink. I know it was he who penned the threat.

Now, I sit and wait for the announcement. The announcement that will bring back to me what Anna and I were. Love personified, love given wings, a love that only Celine could sing about.

I thank you in advance for your support,

the Cerebral Itch Guy

Anna Nicole Smith R.I.P. for once in your life

In the Circus Maximus we call 21st century pop culture she was a force. She was the crazy cousin/ neighbor/girlfriend you'd make an effort to see no matter what. There was something perversely alluring about this redneck teenage mom turned stripper turned Playboy Playmate turned model turned media magnet turned heiress turned Supreme Court litigant turned another blonde tragedy. She was a scrapper and a clown. Surrounded by a cast of characters and situations that made us say things like "there by the grace of God go I".

Monroe, Mansfield, Stratten, etc. The collective memory is littered with her kind. And what they all had in common were the humble trashy beginnings and their rise to bizarre stellar notoriety juxtaposed with people they should have never been allowed to get close to (i.e. Kennedy, Sinatra, Bogdonovich). Face it, we all rooted for her to get that money; and when she strode the steps of the United States Supreme Court people were doing spit takes all over the world. We didn't think she could top the TrimSpa Anna Nicole, but she did. Then things got sad and picked up speed to this inevitable denouement. The autopsy and paternity fight are going to jockey for lead position with Iraq, Libby and disaster movie weather on the evening news for months to come; and we'll watch. Because why? We can relate more to the crazy cousin/neighbor/girlfriend than we can to the bigger tragedies we have to wake up to each morning.

Rest in peace Vickie Lynn Marshall; you were a hoot.