Pandemic disease infects Pamela Anderson

Professional titillater Pamela is no boob, she knows which side her bread is buttered.

Pamela’s a ‘celebrity’ (God knows she’s no actress) and wants to remain one, which is why she’s duty-bound to keep abreast of mock-worthy fads.

(My wife has just peeked over my shoulder and told me not to indulge my ‘puerile appetite for idiotic puns’. Sorry, darling, it’s a kind of Tourette’s, nothing I can do about it.)

The list of the mock-worthy causes Pamela supports is long. It includes veganism, animal rights, anti-fur, climate change, seals, anti-Kentucky Fried Chicken, AIDS (which we all know is a conspiracy on the part of the conservative establishment – as, truth be told, are all the other affronts that excite Pamela so). 

It was in her capacity as campaigner for mock-worthy causes that Pamela appeared yesterday on a yacht in the French Riviera, her white dress revealing more of her menopausal charms than most women have altogether. By Pamela’s standards this represented demure attire, certainly as compared to her erstwhile appearances as a Playboy centrefold.

The occasion for which Pamela undressed in her finery was an extravaganza for Cool Earth, a charity whose real object seems to be celebrities striving to assuage their guilty consciences, while at the same time coming across as caring-sharing humanitarians. Good for the old box office, that.

On this occasion they were acting not as humanitarians but rather as arboretarians, for this time they chose the rain forest to communicate their being in touch with the innermost cravings of mankind. Saving those tracts infested with wild animals, deadly insects and snakes, they claim, will solve most of our problems, both physical (such as global warming) and moral (such as not giving two flying, well, hoots about global warming).

Pamela’s speech took everyone’s breath away, and for once people looked at her face. For the fading beauty laid bare some harrowing experiences of her childhood.

“I was molested from age six by a female babysitter,” sobbed Pamela. One would have expected that a link to the plight of the rain forest would then be found, such as, “And now ranchers and loggers are doing the same to the Amazon.”

But nothing like that ensued. You see, Pamela evidently suffers from the disease that has reached pandemic proportions in the West: mental (in her case also physical) exhibitionism, metastasising into emotional incontinence.

Hence she continued in the same vein. At age 12 “I went to a friend’s boyfriend’s house and his older brother decided to teach me backgammon which led into a back massage, which led into rape.” Going from a back massage to rape is easy enough, but how did they make the transition from backgammon to a back massage, is what I want to know. 

A tragic experience no doubt, but what makes Pamela think this would interest anyone other than Pamela and some of her more onanistic admirers? Perhaps it was for the sake of the latter that she enlarged further on her difficult childhood:

A few years later a school boyfriend, she complained, “decided it would be funny to gang-rape me with six friends.”

The lad certainly had a strange sense of humour and probably Pamela suffered a  lasting trauma, but really she ought to be suffering in silence, especially 30 years on. Such revelations would be impossibly embarrassing to any normal person but hey, it’s a ‘celebrity’ we’re talking about.

Evidently Pamela’s desire to let it all hang out can’t be limited to low-cut dresses. Modern savages have no concept of dignity and emotional restraint, and this goes not just for Pamela but also for her audience.

Rather than reaching for sick-bags, they clapped their hands to raw meat. “No one was expecting a speech like that,” commented one of the attending savages. “Pamela was so brave.”

Right. As brave as – braver than! – our boys dying in Afghanistan for their leaders’ criminal idiocy. Our unarmed policemen confronting knife-toting thugs. Our missionaries who give their lives for their faith.

There goes another word, devalued right into the putrid gutter. But why stop there, why not describe this exercise in revolting exhibitionism as heroic? Why not put Pamela up for the Victoria Cross? As a Canadian, she’s Her Majesty’s subject after all, and we’re all looking for new heroes.

What Pamela’s boyfriend and his six friends did to Pamela she and her jolly friends are now doing to taste, modesty and decency. They should remember that a heart worn on one’s sleeve will be soon covered in grime.













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