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Happy Valentine's Day, Danielynn! You're Doomed!

....oh, and I'm your Daddy!

This is Dark Cloud on Wednesday, February 14, 2007.

It’s Valentine’s Day, and on this holy and solemn day of days, out of a highly refined sense of duty, a genetic trait that compels my hair to curl in attractive ringlets, I wish to reluctantly let it be known that it is I who am the father of Dannielynn Smith, the daughter of the late and dearly lamented Anna Nichole Smith, and reluctantly accept stewardship of her half billion dollars which I will protect and utilize solely for her enjoyment and benefit till her untimely death from a carefully encouraged regimen of illegal drug ingestion before she attains her majority and leaves everything to me, when I will be yet under seventy-five and able to share my sadly obtained good fortune with her attractive best girlfriends, aged seventeen and up. Eighteen, I mean eighteen. My daughter will always associate with the older crowd.

I know the public has been misinformed by the jealous failed suitors of Ms. Smith. These ludicrous claims of parenthood by such poseurs might leave the impression among the salt of the earth, whose worthless and annoying lives profess interest in that of their betters, that my beloved daughter would have the same chance for a sane, productive life as the hypothetical love child of Paris Hilton and Andy Dick. Whether the insolvent gigolo of Zsa Zsa Gabor, or Smith’s pool boy, or a slew of radioactive attorneys, or her seemingly gay photographer, or the frozen sperm of Smith’s very late and senile husband in the past - who left her, or so it’s claimed, a large amount of fiscal liquidity and securities, not that I care about Mammon - it’s quite obvious Smith preferred me and only found transient solace with others in my complete absence from her life. I am a kind, generous alpha male of rectitude, and I can do no less than forgive her, and accept the burden of our daughter’s millions. A harsh life awaits, no doubt, but after all: it’s Valentine’s Day. I can do no less.

It is true that before the light of goodness enveloped me and my duty made clear, that I was suggesting on web and mumbled, drunken rants on street corners that all claimants for fatherhood of Danielynn Smith, daughter of the late Anna Nichole and sister to the late Daniel for whom she is named, be given a DNA test and, in the event they failed the test and were not the father, shot. This, less they appear again in our lives, or subject another soul to the burden of being their offspring.

Further, if they could provide no calendar of in-state proximity to Ms. Smith during the window of opportunity for conception, they should be afforded extraordinary rendition in Bulgaria before being shot. If they could provide no resume of interest, they should be forced to listen to all the failed contestants of American Idol in aggregate, afforded extraordinary rendition in Bulgaria, and then shot. If they said anything that annoyed me about their sentence, I’d reverse the sequence. They may, however, have a point regarding the Hague’s attitude towards American Idol, which is still above mine.

But, it’s Valentine’s Day, and as with all High Holidays, prisoners should be freed. Should be. But those in thrall to the hypocrisies and bombast of love, especially when others want to profit from it, eventually accept the troubling facts. If you have ever actually fallen in love, you can never fall entirely out of it, and although we move on and different people come and go, and later ones may indeed surpass earlier ones in intensity and depth, always the memories appear unbidden when you - admit it - first blushed in happiness and anticipation.

I’ll bet even such an attractive and voracious raptor as Anna Nichole once blushed in happy proximity to someone. It’s possible. But it’s really too much to hope that her daughter will live long enough to experience it. That's an awful thing to think, much less say, but it's likely true.