Rode hard and put away wet

It’s over for Ladysmith’s most famous woman (no, not my crazy aunt Joanne) Pam Anderson and her thirty seconds worth of husband, Rick Salmon Soloman Salman Rushdie the crusader-eyed weirdo from One Night In Paris, a fact which probably comes as no surprise to anyone who has ever heard of them or their exes… or drawn a breath in an oxygen environment. You’d have to be a pretty dumb bag of hair not to have seen that coming. But the bag of hair went and married him anyway, bless her.

Despite having the Hep, there are a lot of persistent rumours out there about the ways Pam likes to “get hepped” (yes, I just said that), and after viewing her sex tape with Tommy Lee (and the coda, featuring that repugtard, Bret Michaels), I can at least confirm she knows her way around a rolling machine… although I’ve heard she’s much more familiar with reflective surfaces, if you catch my snowdrift. But that couldn’t be the reason for her alleged miscarriage, could it? They look like such clean living kids, don’t they?

I’m not interested in Rick’s, but if you haven’t seen her sex tape, the highlight is not the sex (of which there is simply oodles), but rather the way Tommy & Pam, in complete seriousness, insist on calling each other “lovahh”, which sends me into hysterics every time. I kind of wish she would have another kid just so we could see which 90210 character name would come up next in the lottery (I was holding out for a little baby Brenda!), but alas, it is not to be.

I’m guessing this marriage did at least produce a sex tape, though (one which will probably gestate until the next bumpy PR cycle either has). Old habits die hard, and these two champions are about as desperate as one can be to avoid the glue factory of obscurity…