May 16, 2007
The Paris Hilton Show
Hi, I'm Paris Hilton. Most of you know I am an heir to the Hilton hotel fortune. I can stay at any Hilton in the world, free. In fact, I stay in the penthouse wherever I go, because, well, I'm me. I can pull into London and ask for the penthouse and even if the Pope himself is staying there, they throw that old fool out to accommodate me!
Needless to say, I know what makes a great hotel room: lavish furnishings, 800-thread-count sheets, and a crew of groveling underlings to wait on me hand and foot.
That's fun, sure, but there is more to life than that (for example, vodka, boy toys, fast cars and cocaine). I've reached a point in my life where I want to pare things down. I think living a Spartan life with only the bare essentials will help me grow from what I am – a snot-nosed spoiled little bitch with the IQ of a gerbil – into what I want to become, a snot-nosed spoiled adult with the brain of a dead walrus. I want to spread my wings, just as I have spread my legs for so many so long. And I want you to be there with me!
Welcome to my new home at Century Regional Detention Facility in Los Angeles! Sure, I could have had a suite, but I've opted for the studio, which is more than enough space for a little, itsy, bitsy thing like me.
I want you to look at this room like a blank canvas. Today you and I, along with this . . . this maid . . . will transform this space from a near-empty cell, er, I mean room, to a luxurious space suitable for a rich little piglet like myself. So welcome to my new reality show, "My Space with Paris Hilton!"
Paris: Umm, honey, what's your name, anyway?
Matron: I'm Matron Greta, and you will call me Matron or I'll shove that ugly head of yours into the toilet.
PARIS: Goodness, that wouldn't work. Do you have any idea how much I paid for these extensions? I could buy or sell a dozen hags like you and not be able to afford more than a one-hour session with Sven in Hollywood. My head cannot get wet so let's get over that toilet thing, OK? Now let's talk drapes. These bars have to go. I was thinking some Biarritz silk taffeta drapes, maybe in a chartreuse or apricot? Honey, why don't you fetch me a Perrier and some designer books and we'll put an order together.
MATRON: See this billy club? Wanna know where I'm gonna stick it?
PARIS: Goodness: Emerson Maycroft Smithers III once said that to me, and I said, son, for the size of your trust fund you can stick it anywhere you want! But there's no time for that now. We're decorating. Speaking of that toilet, I kind of like the idea of having it right in the middle of the room. It's kind of shabby-chic! One question: Like, where's the bidet?
MATRON: I give up. I'm calling the warden in here.
WARDEN: I'm Warden Browning. What the hell is going on here?
PARIS: Ahhh, Ward! You must be the interior decorator! It's funny, you don't look gay, you old rascal. Let's talk bedding. I favor Egyptian cotton, but I'm open to suggestions. I've asked the maid here for some Tommy Bahama and Libeco-Lagae samples but, between us, I don't think she understands much English. It's so hard to get good help these days. And pillows. I like lots of pillows.
WARDEN: You'll get one wool blanket. No pillow. That's policy.
PARIS: My, you do go for the Spartan look, don't you Butchie. Hey, I'm famished. Honey, get a pen. I'd like an arugula salad, some poached beets, oh maybe a squash puree with essence of white truffle, and perhaps a croissant. Oh, and some herbal tea. And by the way, it's almost cocktail hour. Ward, what'll you have?
WARDEN: Franks and beans will be served in the mess hall at 5:15.
Goodness, that's early. It's like, still Happy Hour! Where is the mess hall? You mean the Grand Dining Parlor? I'm confused. Goodness, I need a cigarette. Please fetch me something to smoke. In fact, I have some excellent Thailand-grown weed in my purse. Ward, you'll likey. After din-din I'll probably want to hit a few clubs. Hey, I have an idea! Let's get some toot! I know plenty of cute guys!
WARDEN: Listen you little pig, you're in prison. JAIL! You've been incarcerated!
PARIS: You call this a jail? I don't even have a bidet!
MATRON: Let's go honey, it's time for your shower.
PARIS: Honey, hello? Hello? Look at this skin. Do you think I really do showers? Now get my steam room ready. And I do think I'll need a cocktail right now. Get me a chilled Diva vodka with a splash – and I mean only a splash of lime or I'll find someone who will. And you, Ward, stop this Village People shtick! I mean, Macho you're not, lady! Now: artwork for the walls. Mumsy has a Picasso we can have but really, over a toilet? I don't think so. We'll have to move that. And this . . . this bunk? Pu-lease! I can't imagine any duvet cover on that thing! Oh my god! Oh my god! Where's the flat screen TV? Hello? Hello? Is anyone home? Get me the concierge at once!