(The following was recorded at the Marriott Marquis Hotel and Conference Center in Manhattan at 2:17pm EST. Please forward all press inquiries to the LLPON.com media relations department).
OTTO MAN: Thank you all for coming here on such short notice. I'm particularly pleased to see that so many friends and family could be here to support me today. Mayor Bloomberg, Scarlett Johannsen, Ted McGinley ... and, of course, the Holy Father, Pope Benedict XVI. Thank you for being here, Your Holiness. (Inaudible, German.) Yes. I believe they will validate your parking.
I'd like to thank the members of the press for being here. Especially Mr. Novak. I know you don't like to tread the earth during the daylight hours, and I thank you for making an exception.
My announcement today is a sudden one, but one that I must make in light of this morning's bombshell announcement from my former dance partner and pilates instructor, StudioDave, that he was engaged in a longterm romantic relationship with Anna Nicole Smith. Given the likelihood that he is the father of Miss Smith's newborn daughter, I feel I owe it to him -- and to all of you -- to come clean about my involvement with Anna Nicole as well.
Let me be clear: Our relationship was in no way sexual. While I am, as these notarized statements will attest, one hundred percent he-man, I was never attracted to Anna Nicole Smith in a sexual way. Perhaps it was the fact that her body was made up of equal parts of products from the Frito-Lay Corporation and a hard, unyielding plastic that you normally only find in frisbees. Perhaps it was this hangup of mine where I like my sexual partners to be conscious. We'll never know.
No, our relationship was purely social. Anna Nicole Smith was a wild ride, and I loved every minute I got to spend with her as we rollercoastered from the frantic peaks of excitement down through the cleavage-like valleys of darkness.
We were inseperable these past few months on the South Beach party circuit, so much so that it was really hard to tell where I ended and she began.
Which one of us thought it would be a good idea to make a cocktail combining horse tranquilizers, primo weed and smooth Kentucky bourbon? Hard to say. Though I do remember I wanted to call it a "Churchill Downer," and she insisted on calling it her "Magic Pony Sleepy Juice."
But I digress.
As I said, it was hard to tell where our ideas came from. Certainly, it was hard enough that a legal system based on a presumption of innocence could never pin one of them on me.
Sure, maybe it was my idea to take equal doses of methamphetamines and Valium with a scotch chaser, turn on the coin-operated massage bed, and "let 'em fight it out." Or maybe it was hers. Who's to say?
And maybe, just maybe, she was the one who wanted to "play whirlybird" on the hotel room's ceiling fan until she vomited Pina Coladas and Fluffernutters all over the terrace. Or maybe ... No, wait, that one was definitely her.
What I do know is that it will be terribly, terribly difficult for all of us who knew and loved Anna Nicole Smith to understand just where she left off and we began. The thickening piles of Oreo crumbs were a good clue, but it was always hard to know for sure. There will always be some reasonable doubt, in our minds and, God willing, in the mind of any potential jury.
Thank you. There will be no questions. Anna Nicole hated questions, almost as much as she hated frowns and sobriety.