Fuggis Hilton: Headed-To-The-Pokey Edition

Karma is a bitch. So is Paris Hilton. So it only makes sense that the two would crash together, with unspeakably awesome results. There is NOTHING more fantastic than Kathy Hilton ranting about how much they spent, NOTHING as satisfying the long arm of the law finally reaching out and choking somebody with no redeeming qualities, and NOTHING as awesome as imagining Paris having to sleep on an uncomfortable cot underneath a burly, hygienically challenged, tattooed, pierced, and lightly mustachioed cell mate named Bertha. Today, even if it feels kind of bad for flashing its bitchpants, the world is full of glee. VICTORY IN OUR TIME.

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

Poor P. Pooooooooooooor little P. Prison clothes don't come in leopard, sweet pea. And you probably won't get to use all that makeup, either, but it's just as well, because it makes you look like a wax figurine. As for Josh, don't worry -- he disappeared before your hearing, although I'm sure that was PURE coincidence. But just as a tip for the future, girlie, sometimes guys get sick of dating girls who just can't seem to remember to stop drinking and driving.

Also, seriously, DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE. For real. And don't then keep driving without a license. How hard is that to remember? Maybe you can sweet-talk Bertha into tattooing it to your arm.

At any rate, refill all your prescriptions, Men of Hollywood, and leave no ointment or salve behind. Paris has a month left before 45 days in the clink, and you know she will spend it throwing as many bratwursts onto the grill as she possibly can.