I’d like to state now and for the record that I am not the father of Anna Nichole’s baby. I realize that that puts me in a distinct minority among American Men, and removes any chance of my inheriting the hundreds of millions that her estate might be worth, but the odds appear to be about the same as winning the Irish Sweepstakes, so I feel that it’s no great loss.
Not that I haven’t had an opportunity mind you. The last time I saw Anna Nichole she was telling me how desperately she wanted my body — you know, like with her eyes — but I was all like “No Anna Nichole! I’m spoken for! I’m a happily married man! A devoted husband and father! You go work your womanly wiles on somebody else, Anna Nichole!”
Anyway, she wasn’t really my type.
