Smokey Mountain Breakdown

Somewhere between mopping the floor today, so my 17 year old hospice case of a cocker spaniel will have a fresh pallet to pee upon...and whipping up a batch of cocoa butter udder balm for my dairy girls...I heard that poor ole Anna Nicole Smith had died.

I was quite hopeful when she burst onto the scene in the early nineties. I mean, she had a real body during a time when "heroin chic" was all the rage. But then she had to go and open her mouth.

I hate to speak ill of the dead (that phrase indicates that I'm about to do just that...), but she gave white trash a bad name. There's just no other way for me to think of it. She was like a modern day Flannery O'Connor character brought disturbingly to life. The world indeed turned completely upside down for me when I heard the words "Supreme Court" and "Anna Nicole Smith" uttered together.

While I'm usually a big fan of women speaking out, I think there are times when silence and a beautiful woman sort of fit nicely together.

Now, if only we can get Ann Coulter to take this vitally important lesson to heart.

Nah. Ain't gonna happen. Somebody hand me the duct tape.