I expect I’ll be raked over the coals by the cable news networks as a sleazy, money-grubbing opportunist, but it doesn’t change the cold hard fact: I am the father of Anna Nicole Smith’s baby.

No doubt in one of the many multinational court battles, sure to be fought over our innocent child’s paternity and custody, some smarmy trial lawyer will bring up the fact that I never met Anna Nicole, or that my DNA doesn’t match the child or that I never made a claim for paternity before. Let’s just say that I always thought it was just a dream, too – because no woman as beautiful as Anna Nicole Smith in her right mind would even consider coupling with an ugly, middle-aged troll like me.

But then, when I saw on the news the collection of creepy, ugly, middle-aged gargoyles who were claiming to have fathered her baby, I realized that maybe it wasn’t a fantasy, that maybe she really had been my lover, maybe on some other astral plane. My wife thinks I’m crazy as an astronaut, but the sleazy Bahamian lawyer I just hired seems quite optimistic.