Pamela Anderson Settles For Happiness

There comes a time in every woman’s life when she realizes she’s no longer going to get six figures to strip for Mexican cartel chiefs and that chunky unemployed BFF might make a solid fall back position. He doesn’t bitch about the rashes or having to come saucer you up at 3am and he vaguely remembers the names of your kids stashed away at boarding school within trudging distance of the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station. If he had more credits than just the Paris Hilton sex tape to his name and didn’t gamble so much and maybe lost a few pounds he might be your knight in shining armor. But maybe now it’s time to settle for the fat squire in soiled britches. Silicon doesn’t age as gracefully as your other tetravalent metalloid.

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