Although I am now fatigued by the Anna Nicole Smith story by now, her peculiar life continues as the “Economist” writes a eulogy to her breast implants:
Yet all this was somewhat beside the point; because what you saw first, on meeting Ms Smith, were the Breasts. There were only two of them, but they made a whole frontage: huge, compelling, pneumatic. They burst out of tight red dressespreferably redor teased among feather boas, or flanked a dizzying cleavage that plunged to tantalising depths. These were celebrated, American breasts, engineered by silicon to be as broad and bountiful as the prairie. With them, a girl from nowhereor from Houston, Texascould do anything. The body behind them waxed and waned, sometimes stout as a stevedore’s and sometimes almost waif-like, matching the little-girl voice; but the Breasts remained. “Everything I have”, Ms Smith admitted, “is because of them.”
Not exactly the story you want disseminated to your children as it is so often untrue, but Anna led a celluloid life.