As most of you know, America has lost a sex symbol, actress, mother, black sheep and most importantly, every prepubescent boy's masturbatory fantasy. Not only was she a groundbreaking actress and trophy wife, she was the reason I found out what an erection was. The following is a chronology of the woman that I lost my first kids to and single handedly (no pun intended…alright, it was) turned me into a man.

I remember it like it was yesterday, because it probably was. Anyways, I was with my family at the local Target store shopping scrolling through a magazine, then KABLOOM I wanted to become majority stock holder in Guess? Jeans. Now, I didn't know what holding a stock was but she sure as hell had a hold on me. I had never felt that way; the only way I can describe it is with help from a song my friend Bob Seger once sang: "I GOT THAT FIRE DOWN BELOW". Everyone in Target knew too.

The following weekend I stayed at my Dad's apartment, only to stumble upon his Tower of Babel-esque stack of Playboy magazines. Playboy magazine? What the heck is that? I slowly peered over the top issue only to see my buxom beauty on the cover; the sole reason I emptied my piggy bank on what-I-thought-to-be priceless shares of Guess? Jeans' stock ( and people wonder why I'm not good with money). I timidly opened the magazine, and what I saw next changed my life…Playboy Party Jokes. There were all kinds of words and phrases and body parts that I had never heard of. I frantically ripped through the pages, THEN what I saw next really changed my life…a Q&A interview with Bill Maher. He was apparently Politically Incorrect, whatever that meant.

I thought to myself, "Man, this Playboy magazine is really swell; it being full of nonsensical jokes to use while being 'inebriated', whatever that means. Why mass-produce a magazine that had useless jokes and uninspired interviews with Bill Maher about his 'sex life', whatever that means."

Throwing caution to the wind, I gourged through the remains at a torrid pace only to come upon a page that had my girl on the page…only she wasn't wearing those Guess? Jeans clothes. Hell, she wasn't wearing anything…AND I LIKED IT. I had never seen anything like it before; I didn't know what they were or what they were used for, but the next day I told all the boys about it in my third grade class.

"Yeah, they were called 'breasts', or 'tits', guys. I don't know where we find 'em but I sure as hell want some!" That was the day I began selling my Dad's Playboys at double the price in the back of the classroom during breaks. Enterprising at a young age, I encouraged all the girls in my class to partake in growing these "boob" things. I believe my slogan was: "Here titty, titty, titty." OK, I made that part up, but it was way too good to pass up. And, no, I'm not a repeat sex offender. Now then…

Banking off of my best friends was another thing I had in common with Ms. Smith, only she banked off of some guy who was something ridiculous like seventy years her elder. Apparently, they were like peas and carrots, except that he was like turn of the 19th century carrots. But, hey, it was in the name of love, who was I to judge?

Mr. Marshall met his maker a few years later, leading to a big time legal dispute over who got that rights to his billion-plus dollar estate. By this time, I was over my boyish infatuation with what would become a nation-wide infatuation due to her antics and extremities she flaunted in the courtroom.

I was in middle school by now and realized what a money-hungry bitch she was. Post-court was when everything went downhill. She quickly became a proud member of the "Babe Ruth/Rush Limbaugh" diet by eating all food and pills in sight. She exemplified the word "train wreck", and, like the majority, it was fascinating to watch her embarass herself on national TV on a red carpet's basis. Like this little nugget, //
. After watching that, we should remove train from train wreck and replace it with the initials ANS.

She died a couple days ago.

The whole point of this note is my wondering of why people were so enamored with her. Everybody, almost exclusively, women have shown great compassion with her since she passed away. Why? I never understood what was so great about her. I'm sure some of you are calling me a heartless prick but seriously, why in the hell should we make such a big deal out of her dying, probably due to complications of drugs, no less. She manipulated everyone/anyone close to her, chased money at any cost, and is even questioned to have a role in her son's death. WHY THE ADMIRATION? Thousands of people die everyday and don't get an inkling of the news coverage that she gets and for what? She was famous for being famous and that was it.

Her tits will be missed.