Look how you’re all staring at her—gosh! I guess I’d stare at her, too.

What was wonderful was, when you looked at my Magic Friend naked, you didn’t see me. Poor, sad Norma Jeane could hide inside her.

That’s why deformity and ugliness scare me!—I never want to get old, wrinkled, shriveled, ugly. Always I want to be Miss Golden Dreams—just as I am right now.

(And it is a fact, this is me. Re-created from the “organic residue”—DNA—of my actual, authentic, certified corpse through the miracle of medical technology, reconstituted as the gorgeous nude girl lying before you in a suggestive yet innocent pose on red velvet.)

(Yes, it’s hard to grasp. “Marilyn Monroe” officially died in 1962, age thirty-six; born in 1926, she’d be ninety-five now. But that’s just the old Marilyn, of yesteryear; we are living in a very different world now, where, if you can afford it, you can be “de-aged” while living and “reconstituted” following your death.)

Almost, I seemed to know that I would live forever—somehow! Even as a girl, Norma Jeane had faith.

In my interviews I would say (in my little, breathy Marilyn voice, with widened blue-gray eyes)—“No sex is wrong if there’s love in it.”

And I would say—“If I could have a baby, I would never be sad again.”

You would have given me a baby, wouldn’t you, Daddy? I guess it’s kind of too late now, even the miracle of PlastiPlutoniumLuxe doesn’t enable you to have children, but you can do (almost) anything else with state-of-the art PlastaGenitalia, as you will see.

Anyway, I know that I would have been a good mother! All the mistakes my own mother made, I would not make. Not Marilyn!

Would’ve adored a beautiful little angel-baby, little girl-baby I’d have dressed like a doll. Cuddle and kiss and wrap in swaddling clothes and bury in the cradle so we wouldn’t hear her wailing in our bed.

If her hair turned out brunette, not blond, not white-blond like my hair, that would’ve presented a problem, I guess—the public would look from baby girl to me and figure out that my hair wasn’t “natural blond,” so there’d be sniggering pieces in the media. (Easiest solution would’ve been to bleach the baby’s hair to match my shade of blond, I guess!)

But the main purpose was to have a perfect little baby to be the momma of—Norma Jeane like she was supposed to be, not as she was.

Well, it didn’t happen, Daddy. No need to look worried—it won’t.

No need for you to be jealous of a kid, Daddy. Never happened.

I love you looking at me, Daddy—don’t stop! Guess you understand, most of what I say is just kidding?