So it's 1:30 in the morning and I'm lying (laying?) in bed. I'm rereading Chuck Klosterman's "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs" and I've just finished chapter six, "Ten Seconds To Love." This is the chapter about the cultural significance of Pamela Anderson.

The chapter includes a few lengthy comparisons to Marilyn Monroe, some loose talk about Madonna, Mariah Carey, and Jenny McCarthy, and (of course) a lot of talk about the Pam and Tommy sex tape.

After reading so much about shapely figures and celebrity blowjobs, I felt a need to masturbate. Not a desire, mind you, a need. I don't even like Pamela Anderson. At all. Not even a little. And yet after reading a very unsexy exposition of her going down on Tommy Lee, I felt that a little self love was required.

So I finished reading the chapter and, for good measure, the half page interlude that followed, and I set to work. I found I was only able to get where I was going if I made a conscious effort to not think about Pamela Anderson. I've reached a few conclusions about this.

Conclusion #1: Pamela Anderson is nasty.
Conclusion #2: I really need better masturbatory fantasies.
Conclusion #3: I'm kind of weird.