top of page
< Back




A badass bahgain hunter born out of the banks of Wollaston beach, Pammmmmmmmmmmmy (with 12, count ‘em, 12 Ms—half of them are silent, you get to pick which half) is a maelstrom of misplaced middle age rage who likes to scrap with the Sbarros boys, the Ames girls, and everyone in between, so long as it’s in a parking lot of a long-dead mall. One half of the Bradlees Babes tag team, her and her totally platonic life partner in crime Cherrill pledge allegiance to the defunct retail gods, binging on Betamax and huffing extra-hold hair spray till they don’t see straight no more. Always a mom jean—but never a mom—ole Pam is ready to bring the pain on nogoodnicks, ragamuffins, and anyone who preens around her neighborhood with technology or outfits popularized after the year of our lord 1994, though her Catholic guilt might provide a teensy bit of mercy. Catch her breakin necks with her signature move, the “everything must go”, and putting any sucker in her path on layaway—forever.


Everything Must Go

bottom of page