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.

Grasping the Obvious

Having failed to pay a $208 bill on her storage unit, Paris Hilton's belongings in it were auctioned off and fell into the hands of infamous celeb sex tape collector David Hans Schmidt, who immediately put them up on the internet to view for a fee. Schmidt is the man you have to thank for the release of Screech's Dirty Sanchez movie.

Of course, only one person has to pay the fee, see the content, steal the content, and repost it. Thank you, anonymous Good Samaritan.

Among the items now available for public viewing are medical records detailing miscarriages and herpes treatments, numerous collages of herself she crafted from tabloid photos, fake ID's from Ohio identifying her as "Amber Taylor" and "Superstar," diaries of her booze and pot hallucinations, and porn videos filmed by the creator of Girls Gone Wild. In one, she declares herself, "the hottest person alive."

And Pauly Shore's cell phone number scrawled on a dirty napkin?!

Oh, Paris.

Well, I guess that's it. Now my eyes are open. You really are a Britney-class skank, and not the sweet, innocent, herpes-free virgin I thought I knew. That's why I have no other choice but to take down my website, ParisIsntASkankySlutAssHoBag.com. All these years I convinced myself that it was someone else in that grainy, night-vision footage, wasted! My sympathy for her in her feud against Tara Reid? Completely obliterated by the new video of the two of them snorting coke of a fat guy's belly! I'm beginning to suspect that her feud with Nicole Richie was faked for publicity too!

Oh well. For the time being, I can keep up my other site, MotherTeresaIsntASkankySlutAssHoBag.org, unless there's something I haven't been told yet.