Anna Nicole, W Wish We'd Hardly Known Ye

So, Anna Nicole Smith has shuffled off this mortal coil.

Now come on, seriously, who didn't see this coming? You? In the back? Were you not paying attention during the Train Wreck chapter? Not even during the filmstrip ("When Bimbos Attack", courtesy of the Fox Network)?

Actually, I prefer to think of it as her marrying off to that rich old white guy in the sky. Right now she's like, "Come on, Jesus, wanna watch me dance?" and in a few hours he'll be adding her to his will and giving her his whole inheritance (tablets, arks, all that jazz) and pretty soon will come the inevitable custody and paternity suits over whether her child is really the son of the Son of Man or not. So that's something to look out for in the future.

Do you know who the real loser in this messy affair is? No, not her infant daughter. Sheesh, people. Think of poor TrimSpa! They've been insisting their diet drug is perfectly safe and effective. Now their spokesmodel is dead, and all signs point to an Elvis-esque final visit to the toilet with a mouthful of pills. Faster than you can say "Phen-Fen," these people are going to be out of business.

Who are the winners? Well, the field is wide open for America's Next Top Crusty Aging Chihuahua-toting Bimbo Sweetheart. Will it be Tara Reid? Paris Hilton? My money's on Britney. As the only one of the three who spent her day denying rumors of lesbian heroin orgies, I think she's off to an excellent start.