When I got in from work this evening I discovered that America’s celebrity media had chalked up another casualty.
As you may well have seen or read about by now, Anna Nicole Smith was found dead this afternoon in a hotel room - with her publicist stating that she had been very unhappy for a very long time.
You would think, with so many psychofantic people around her, that the agent, or the publicist, or the makeup guy, or any one of the legion of hangers on it usually takes to support somebody like Anna would have cared just a little bit about the train wreck they must have known was unfolding in front of them.
But no. We are talking about America, where they were living the dream through somebody else. Making money from her face, her body, and her drunken and drug fuelled episodes - allowing or even inciting them to happen in order to ensure that she stayed in the spotlight. Ensured that the money train kept rolling.
Well done everybody. You may never read this, and we may never find out who you are. You can join the same group that surrounded Marilyn in 1962, and can be justifiably proud.