Pamela Anderson has penned an epically long poem about many, many things - including vegetables - but mainly the difficulties of being in and falling out of love.
Maybe it was cathartic for her (she has just announced her second divorce from husband Rick Salomon), but the 1209-word stream of consciousness is utterly undecipherable to the rest of the world.
In it, she laments the "lost art" of sex, "the cruel smell of blossom" (a scent that tends to be well-liked by most, but each to their own), "lost female security", seemingly caused by "coded and loaded cell phones" - but, frankly, it's difficult to tell either way.
She goes onto describe how much she misses Playboy and "chivalry and elegance", two words seldom associated with Hugh Hefner or his brand.
Then comes an inexplicable segment about unwashed vegetables.
