I know, such a strange, surprise declaration from a Thin Girl, but I always say, if I looked like her, I’d own the world not to mention the rest of the solar system.
For me she’s right up there with Yosemite and the Grand Canyon, Niagara Falls and the chicken soup at Little Nectar. On my Richter scale, and make no mistake, she has the magnitude of an 8.9 quake. Miss Pamela Anderson is the ninth wonder of the western world easily, even if assembly was required.
One can’t help but to admire her pluck as in guts, not chickens or nose hairs, the way she proudly parades around in all her plastic splendor. For a Connecticut girl like me who only shows skin in post-op, she’s more than a hero.
She’s the Eleanor Roosevelt of tits and ass.
I hear she may be leaving herself to science or The Smithsonian, who would stuff her, though redundant, and put her on permanent display at the Air and Space Museum, right next to Lucky Lindbergh’s Spirit of St Louis or possibly even perched in its cockpit which I’m all in favor of.
We’d have a fresh crop of young astronauts begging to go into space, or at least as high as that ceiling.
All kidding aside (well I’ll try), Pam bleats confidence and courage, aplomb and poise positively self-possessed.
Who said just possessed?
Is that fair?
I’ll let you in on a little secret…sometimes I go to Nina’s Wig Shop in Brooklyn where I don’t know anybody to try on Pam wigs. She sells a lot of them, mostly to hookers who have Pam requests, and to be quite honest, I don’t look half bad as a banged blonde, as it were. Well, providing you don’t look at the rest of me. Even with my Victoria Secret secret pusher-upper that make my boobs look like folded pieces of pressed ham, I couldn’t come close to Your Royal Highness of soft, fuzzy porn. And those lips, even if you were to start your lip-line below your nose, is still not the same since, one does resemble a paint-by-number when using a number two Bobby Brown eyebrow pencil.
I so wish she’d write a how-to book. Not how to spend thousands of dollars at a surgeon’s in Beverly Hills to come out looking like an action figure, but to have the swagger and strut to do so.
I’d be the first to sign up once I got Camille, Joanne and Jimmy the super at 920 Park out of the way first.
I’d have to go early, possibly even sleep on a blanket the night before as if it were Shakespeare in the Park.
Now there’s an idea. Pam as Portia or better yet, Henry V. Imagine her on horseback in all that armor amidst a sea of binoculars.
It would look like an erotic art installation with diction.
As Mobb Depp, the legendary hip-hopper once said, but I think Pam may have said it first…
“Watch my fronts, I got your back.”
Excuse me…time for my meds.