She was a gentle and beautiful child (albeit precocious) when she and her mother moved into our condos here at Goofy Acres in Los Angeles.
We called her Duh because whenever anyone put to her a question such as — “Isn’t it lovely today?” she would always say something like, “Well, Duh, the sun is out.”
Like many Duh girls, her mother was divorced but made ends meet, turning tricks in our condo corridors with men old enough to be her grandfather. They smelled of stale tobacco and new hundred dollar bills.
They paid Duh to leave them alone with her mother. Later, they kicked Duh’s mother serious coin to leave them alone while they whiled away the time with Duh.
Duh was an accomplished conversationalist and knew how to dress as provocatively as her favorite star, Pamela Anderson.
Duh’s boobies were quite spectacular after a visit to a fine Beverly Hills plastic surgeon. One of Duh’s favorite games was to use her enormous boobies to flirt with two athletes, and then make a date to go out with them at the same time.
Both would arrive at Goofy Acres within minutes of each other. A brawl would ensue to which the police were nearly always summoned.
There were the obligatory sex tapes with a rock star.
Hollywood discovered her and she was soon a regular on sitcoms. That led to movie contracts and product endorsements.
CAA put her under contract and her career took off. Duh penned a “tell-all book.” It was the first time the public realized she was bisexual and her memoir was soon on the New York Times bestseller list. Several tabloids linked Duh to trysts with a former U.S. president.
Duh got her mitts on fast cars and loved to “open up” her Bentley late at night on Mullholland.
Except for some squabbles with the paparazzi, life could not have been better but then Duh’s age overtook her. Too many plastic surgeries had left her haggard.
The drugs and constant parties extracted their toll and Duh became another spent starlet.
The final blow: puberty hit her at eleven.
