the great leslie

You probably heard: Anna Nicole Smith dropped dead. It's all over everywhere. It's obviously drugs, in whatever form: diets, anti-depressants, or recreationals. It has Elvis written all over it.

I've got a soft spot for Vickie Lynn Hogan, and not just because we share the same initials. It's because of another thing we have in common, or at least did at some point in 2000. That year Anna posed again for Playboy, a diamond-crusted spread full of sultry looks and flesh. And when I say flesh, what I really mean is extra flesh. She musta been a 12 or a 14, and we all know Hugh favors a 2 or a 4. And since I'm a 12 or a 14 on a good day, I loved Anna for it. Her naked ass was the first ass I've ever seen in a mainstream magazine (and yes, Playboy is totally mainstream) that looked anything like mine. I should have written her a letter to tell her how much I appreciated it, because I really, really did.

You know who else was a Playboy model, was, in fact, the original Playboy model? Norma Jean, a.k.a. Marilyn. That iconic beauty, that alabaster tramp who'd pose for every camera that came her way. She showed what was under her skirts. And now we look at Avedon and Warhol pictures of that tortured beauty and weep for her short-lived years. Who's to say that we won't see Anna that way someday? Who's to say that Anna, behind that perpetual pout, wasn't the same tortured soul looking to the public to fulfill whatever wasn't there? If only she'd realized how unreliable we are, how fickle and forgetful we can be.

Oh, Vickie. You really were a beauty.