Friday, February 24, 2012

Floozy Friday: Anna Nicole Smith

My delicate little daffodils,

Thought we'd try something new here. Maybe it'll take and maybe it won't, but like your chances with that skank across the bar who's out of your league, you'll never know until you try, right?

Like so many of you dear bleaders, I love a good floozy. And, quite frankly, I think most floozies get a bad rap when we should instead be celebrating them.

Let's start with a good one. Anna Nicole Smith. Ms. Smith taught us girls that it's okay if your brain's the size of Rhode Island as long as your tits are the size of Texas. Awwwww, yeaaaahhhh:

People love to get all high and mighty when they talk about this hot piece. "She's dumb." "She never worked a day in her life." Okay, but...

What were you doing when you were 26? Working your ass off at a job where no one appreciated you in the hopes of a promotion that wouldn't really amount to shit? Writing and re-writing your Master's thesis? Wondering why you went on date after sexless date and never found The One?

Yeah, that's what I thought. Because while you and I were concerning ourselves with workin' for The Man, Anna was working a 9th-grade education and a persistence in hookin' till it killed, y'all, and she ended up marrying a practically deaf-mute billionaire with one foot in the grave.

Yeah, Anna Nicole died young, and that's a shame. But she fit more into a life of 40 years--marrying Billy Wayne Smith from Jim's Krispy Fried Chicken, dropping out of high school, workin' those hypnotic mammaries, marrying a gazillionaire, and leaving her 67-year-old stepson and paternity-contested infant daughter to fight over billions of dollars in the US Supreme Court --than most of us would ever squeeze into 10 lifetimes.


Bow down! Floozy in the house!

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