Pamela Anderson turned the sentiment of her recent divorce into a string of prose so horribly absurd, Satan ordered rats to dig into Robert Frost's grave and fuck his skull. Long and rambling, Pam's poem presents dystopian views critical of the digital age, like it was written by Phillip K Dick if he had an itchy vagina and a coke habit. It touches frequently on her husband's infidelity:
Coded, and loaded Cell phones, Computers -- Ordering sex on line- is like ordering a book on Amazon-- and ... snooping eats you alive--Anderson is apparently surprised that the trust fund kid who fucked the herpes out of Paris Hilton on camera is prone to cheating. Then the poem devolves into a most likely plagiarized Skinemax plot of a movie Pam starred in, as she has a mystical lesbian encounter with a European prostitute:
BG- looking for a little human contact? Playful seduction? ... ME- "I'm so Hungry..." BG- Her heart was racing--- It was barely dawn -- Bathed in perfect light- magic hour-- -- ME- "Everyone looks good this early" BG- Even cats and hummingbirdsThen it just gets real weird as Anderson becomes critical of pornography which I guess she renounced after making much of it and selling it online.This passage could not be ignored:
I know I won't compete with a computer-- or - a gaggle of hollywood boys hiring poor Russian girls to swallow loaves of bread up their anus'?-I don't know how many Pulitzer winning poems contain the word Anus but I think its slim to none. Even gay romantic poets use the term 'Stargate to romance'. I can't say Pam's poetry is any worse than Maya Angelou, though I think it's fair to say it is worse than any other poetry ever written by somebody who wasn't experiencing a high school breakup. It's probably best for Pam to stick to what she knows, finding a new shitty husband to make her forget about the last.
Photo Credit: Getty Images