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DesertFox
03-18-2006, 09:19 PM
Joseph Sobran
2 Mar 06

Neither of them could have imagined their romance leading to an eventual appearance before the U.S. Supreme Court. But as Shakespeare says, “Who can control his fate?”

It was love at first sight. He, J. Howard Marshall, was an 89-year old Texas multibillionaire, or polybillionaire, recently widowed; she, Anna Nicole Smith, was a voluptuous-and-then-some stripper basking in his admiration. And as Woody Allen Today's column is "TKTKTK" -- Read Joe's columns the day he writes them.has said, “The heart wants what it wants.”

He murmured the magic words: “Me Dante, you Beatrice.” Soon — perhaps inevitably — they were united in holy wedlock. A year later, Mr. Marshall was a goner. He may have expired blissfully, like one of those amorous Australian spiders who, though fully realizing that his first love must end in his being devoured by the object of his passion, nevertheless says, “What the heck. You only live once anyway.”

Today, 11 years later, the widow Marshall, still in the full bloom of bimbohood, is contesting her late husband’s will, which, she says, he had promised to change before the Grim Reaper did its stuff. But since she has no witnesses to corroborate her version, lower courts have upheld the will, which leaves his fortune to his son, E. Pierce Marshall. ...

Marshall has a strong legal case, but his stepmother can pose two commonsense questions, both of which will be hard to rebut: Why do you think the old man married her, anyway? And why do you think she married him, anyway?

More (http://www.sobran.com/columns/)

Wyatt_Junker
03-18-2006, 09:56 PM
Give her the cash. The old man liked it. And she earned her keep.

She drained the geriatric's last ounce of man butter. He got to pretend he was swimming in a vat of cookie dough. She got to fold the Tuck's medicated pad in half and insert it into his pooper. And he liked it when she let him make pigs-n-a-blankey with her boppers, then a little whack-a-mole, just stroking him left, right, left ... slapping his face so hard it knocked off his bifocals, turning his entire head a hunner-n-eighty degrees each time.

It was a transaction. She used him like an ATM machine. He gave her the pin number. Ain't much to see her except sagging fat rings and wrinkles colliding like a taffey-puller machine.

PatrioticAmerican
03-18-2006, 10:08 PM
Wyatt... Your mastery of imagery has left me breathless. More out of nausea than execution. "Man butter..?" "Taffy-puller machine..?" I don't know how I will be able to sleep tonight... :eek:

DesertFox
03-18-2006, 10:11 PM
One strongly suspects he died a happy man.