Paris, Paris, Paris….

I, like many of you, was genuinely surprised…no, shocked, when the ubiquitous Paris Hilton was released from the slammer after serving only three days of a twenty-three day sentence, after violating her probation for DUI. Oh Paris.
Girl, you got some of the best publicity ever, and let’s be honest, for you, that’s what the game is about, yes? But instead of sucking it up, serving your time, you’ve been released to house arrest to your shack in the Hollywood Hills? I know, I know, house arrest is no picnic….
First, there’s that tacky ankle bracelet, but maybe it could be covered in Swarowski crystals, just to make it less….awful.
Maybe the medical condition from which you suffered was dry skin? Lack of exfoliation? At least on house arrest, you can summon a facialist( thank God!), to buff and condition that fabulous skin…no sense in getting blackheads in the interim, sweetie. And get a masseuse while you’re at it…you’re no doubt tense.
And that hour outside your cell for each 24 hours? That seems generous when compared to house arrest, where you’ll only get 30 minutes away from home before your ankle alarm goes off! That’s barely enought time to get to Starbucks and back. Pleeze.
And if you get lonely, you won’t have the company of the cellblock. Oh no…you’ll have to call up friends, maybe even NICOLE, and beg them to come to you, for a party, where you can order in exotic food and ALCOHOL…..I mean, something has to lure them over, since you can’t go clubbing.
Such a meager existence, and for 40 days. Girl, I hope you don’t freak out.

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