I'll Give You 500 Million Reasons Why I'm The Real Father Of Anna Nicole Smith's Daughter

I'm the true father of Anna Nicole Smith's daughter.

Yah, I know I should've mentioned it earlier, but I didn't want to brag to my buddies or anything. If I'd been all "yah, I've been scoring with Anna Nicole for like two years now", they'd be all like "dude, can I get some autgraphed centerfold pics?" and I didn't want to hassle A to the N for some silly shit like that. We were too tight.

But hey, I understand that now that my true love has passed away, I gotta do the right thing and take care of the sweet little babe, who is my rightful daughter of course, and needs her daddy right now to take care of her and all that inheritance bullshit.

If there is any doubt to my true parentalhood, I'm totally prepared to sign whatever legally papery documents there are that you need me to fill out. You guys could hook me up with a lawyer like Matlock or something, and we could get that done like today, right? If you need I've already got my bank number, so if you need to transfer any fatherly taking-care-of-money to my savings account so I can buy diapers and cheeze doodles and stuff, it's totally cool.

What about those other guys claiming to be the real father? Don't listen to those jerks. They're full of shit. I'm telling you that Anna Nicole and I were always together. There was no way any other dude knocked her up. I'd have kicked any guy's ass if he tried to touch her.

How come you never heard of me? Uhh...well, no we weren't ever seen in public together, not that you could see. But you know, Anna Nicole was only trying to protect me from the popperatzee. She was great that way. Besides, we were always doing it, like bunnies, all the time, and we would just order from Dominos a lot, so we didn't need to go out really.

So dudes, let's just get this over with as quickly as we can. I've got a lot of other shit to take care of, oh, like the baby, and I'm still in morning over Anna Nicole's death, and I don't need more people hassling me. If it's easier for you, just cut me a check, and we can sort out the baby daycare arrangements and things later. I've already quit my job at Wal-Mart, so I could move my shit into the mansion like whenever.

What? You want me to take a pa-turn-ity test? Yah, sure, whatever! I'll ace that. What's the score I have to beat?