Ah, Paris!

Ah, Paris. After three grueling days behind bars, wherein she surely engaged in numerous sud-soaked shower catfights and carved a shiv from her toothbrush, Paris Hilton has been sent straight outta Lynwood lockup, and home to the spartan confines of her palatial estate to serve out the rest of her sentence. That's hot.

The justification given was unspecified "medical issues," supposedly being that she refused to eat her prison-issue food (hot dogs!) and, already only weighing 25 lbs, it was feared she'd disappear altogether if she missed brunch.

Is that really how to get out of jail? I don't eat hot dogs, either. Heck, I don't even eat meat! I'll have to remember to inform the prison system of this next time they catch me on one of my oh-so-naughty killing sprees. Yes, I butchered all of those orphans, but your hamburger offends my sense of taste. Let me go!

I suppose it could be something else. She does have The Herp(tm), but she was in solitary confinement, so unless she was pole-dancing against the bars that shouldn't matter. Is being a heartless bitch grounds for release? "I'm sorry, doc, but I don't have a pulse."

Of course, a month locked up at home may give her plenty of time to record another album, film another reality show, or generally keep reminding us she exists.

The sheriff should have to take her place in jail for the duration of her sentence. This was supposed to be our break from Paris! 40 days of freedom, during which we could concentrate on more important matters, like Lindsay Lohan's new penchant for drunken knifeplay. You know who the real victim is in all of this? Bob Barker. His retirement as host of The Price is Right is being overshadowed by this tawdry spectacle.

If only Paris' parents had heeded his gentle advice, and spayed and neutered themselves, we wouldn't be in this mess now.