The fucking judge was crying! Why does he care? Is he the father? Maybe I'm the father. Maybe its the Bahamian Minister of Immigration (he totally boned her, you know it).
The most infuriating aspect of the Anna Nicole Smith Saga is that I am actually following it and writing about it. I could give two shits about this gold digging waste of space. But here I am, spending time that I should be working to write about a heartwrenching custody battle. Boo hoo.
And does it really matter where you're buried? You're dead, what the fuck do you care? They could grind me into a fine paste and use me as low-grade cat food. I don't care, I'm dead. And why is her mother trying to get her buried in Texas? So she can be interred with the rest of her hillbilly, shit-kicker family? If I had to choose between a Caribbean island or next to the septic tank in the backyard of a mobile home, I'm sorry, but I gotta go Caribbean.
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