The Comedy Central Roast of Pamela Anderson or The Prosecution's Case Against Courtney Love!

Comedy Central aired its Roast of Pamela Anderson tonight. Upon reading the aforementioned sentence, Irony killed itself (and it had just won the lottery yesterday on its 98th birthday). Pamela Anderson deserves a Roast about as much as I deserve to fuck Pam Anderson. It seems, though, that her decision to let herself be roasted came with a few stipulations. The first one was that Comedy Central make a donation to The People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (or NAMBLA, thanks, Daily Show!).

The second was, horrifically, to let her on-again, off-again whale-cocked ex-husband (and my hyphen key just exploded) perform a new song from his solo album. There's a reason that that motherfucker was a drummer in a shitty 80s band and not a lead singer. His voice was horrible, but, thankfully, was mostly drowned out by backup tracks. But the song itself sounded like something that John Mayer would hear and say, "If I record that, I'll lose all my street cred." Richard Simmons would hear that while being slammed in the ass with a parking cone and yell out, "Oh my God! That song is gaaaaay!"

Courtney Love, though, was the highlight of the whole thing. She was completely out of her mind on something (stumbling around, slurring, erratic behavior, smoking a cigarette with her vagina), while promising that she's been sober for a year. Her act is about as convincing as Rosie O'Donnell in Exit to Eden or A League of Their Own or Riding the Bus With My Sister or her talk show.

The best joke of the night went to Jeffrey Ross, the quintessential Roast panelist, with this:
How is it that Courtney Love looks worse than Kurt Cobain?

I haven't seen Hepatitis C so well represented since I rode the Subway in New York at 3 a.m.

Interesting thought of the day:
Retarded people should have to wear Halloween masks in public all the time to make all of us normal people feel better.