MIAMI TALES, PART 1: My MIAMI Ho's

As my faithful readers know, I went to Miami mostly to establish a claim to paternity. While there, I also brushed elbows, and other body parts, with some of the beautiful people who have more money and entrepreneurial sense than they seem to have brains. But cool bodies make up for a lot of dim-wittedness, and I admit I saw quite a few of the bodies.

Being the true father of Anna Nicole's baby, I wanted to get my DNA on record with the court there in Hollywood, Fla., a wholly owned subsidiary of Miami. You know, courts from the Bahamas to California to Florida are fighting over the body and the baby.

As I stood in line with a big crowd of paternity pretenders, who unlike me, have no chance at all, I had a very fascinating conversation with some of them about the intensity of our interest in the welfare of the child (whose name some of us -- like me -- could actually remember!) and of the multi-million dollar inheritance. Among other things. I keep reiterating that my interest was in the proper rearing of the baby, which I believe is a little girl, and not in the filthy money, which when I inherit it, I will give away to a charity of my choice; well, most of it. Some I will use to treat my very best friends. And perhaps a few odds and ends for me, like a home in the Bahamas.

[And let me also dispel a rumor which I know many of you have foolishly believed. Those jugs are real! Would I lie?]

While I was in Miami, I got to know and brown nose many other great and famous people, people of enormous accomplishment and intelligence. People like Mike Tyson and Wayne Gretsky and Matt Damon, all of whom were in town for one reason or another. As we sat poolside enjoying some gin Rickeys, we traded stories about our rise to fame --- well, all right, their rise to fame.

"Pharedsnottengummy," said Tyson as he spat out the nipple he'd chewed off the bargirl. Mike is not always easy to understand, you know. Not as articulate as some of us who have been hit less often and can remember learning how to read. But, man-oh-man can he tell a joke. He told one about a missionary, a chicken and a can of axle grease, that cut us all up.

Anyway, conversation eventually turned to Britney. At first, Gretsky mistook the conversation as being about him, but I told him not all conversations about quick scores are about hockey stars.

Ah, Britney, a bright and shiny bauble amidst the hardened core of the jaded and abused ladies who comprise most of the music world. After our gentle lovemaking session, that continued well into the early hours, I said to her, "Britney, honey. I think you need a haircut." Here we have an example of a body which makes up for a lack of brains. She flew off to California and whacked off her hair. Damn! This is a mistake that new lovers often make. They go to extremes. What will she shave next? Hmm

However, to return to my main point. After looking at my DNA under a microscope, or maybe it was the bottom of a shot glass, they told me I have a very good chance of being declared one of the fathers. When I passed this news on to my new friends at the pool, Matt Damon said, "Cool, dude," and Mike said, "Glustsengutz, bro."