Now Skeletor Skank is in on This

Okay, we've remained pretty silent through this Penn State-esque media circus surrounding Bill Cosby and the allegations of rape, but this is getting ri-goddam-diculous...now Janice Dickinson is in on the bullshit.  Via her stupid mouth (which is being taken seriously, WHY?):

Dickinson says they had dinner in Lake Tahoe, and claims that he gave her a glass of red wine and a pill, which she asked for because she was menstruating and had stomach pains.

And that's when she tells ET that things took a disturbing turn.

"The next morning I woke up, and I wasn't wearing my pajamas, and I remember before I passed out that I had been sexually assaulted by this man," she tells ET. "... Before I woke up in the morning, the last thing I remember was Bill Cosby in a patchwork robe, dropping his robe and getting on top of me. And I remember a lot of pain. The next morning I remember waking up with my pajamas off and there was semen in between my legs."

Dickinson also says she tried to write about the assault in her 2002 autobiography No Lifeguard on Duty: The Accidental Life of the World's First Supermodel, but claims that when she submitted a draft with her full story to HarperCollins, Cosby and his lawyers pressured her and the publisher to remove the details.

"I'm doing this because it's the right thing to do, and it happened to me, and this is the true story," she says about coming out with her story now. "I believe all the other women."

Dickinson says that keeping the alleged sexual assault a secret for 32 years drove her to a life of hurting herself.

First off, I want to go on the record as saying that if Jell-O Pudding Bill Cosby sex is what caused Janice Dickinson to be the crab-person she is today, then she clearly needs to get acquainted with herself.  Lest we forget...this woman hasn't been fully conscious since 1982. Fucking Bill Cosby would be the purest thing she ever did (not counting cocaine).  Second, most of the allegations are probably bullshit, which wouldn't get us so mad except for the fact that it makes a mockery of a serious matter.  In closing, fuck you, Dickinson.