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It's not that I'm taking the high road…

I leave that to real journalists, like Tim Rutten in his Regarding Media column from last week's Sunday LA Times. But I've gotta figure, what's the point of one more person chiming in on the Anna Nicole Smith story, you know?

But this week has really pushed this over the top. First, there's video of Anna, obviously out of it, seriously pregnant, in clown makeup with a baby doll in a carriage. And her lawyer/friend/would-be baby daddy Howard K. Stern heard on the tape telling her the video's "going to be worth millions".

Then comes word that she was prescribed methadone under an assumed name, by some doctor she's seen rolling around with in a West Hollywood gay bar, while Howard (yes, that Howard) and the other wanta-be babby daddy, Larry Birkhead are looking on.

Mom, Howard and god only knows who else are fighting over where she's going to be buried. Her dad, whom no one's heard from in over 20 years, has suddenly crawled out of the woodwork. And the judge, when he finally hands down his ruling on the burial plans, breaks down in tears. This, it is believed by many, is part of his audition process for the courtroom show he hopes to one day have. (And, is apparently in talks with an unnamed network to make a reality.)

It's sad, pathetic, and more than a little disturbing. You could never write fiction like this… no one would ever believe it.
 

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