January 03, 2008
The Hottie and the Fuglie
PARIS HILTON: Hello, LOVERS!
NICKY HILTON: I'm just going to look over here.
PARIS: And people think I am NOT SMART. I am smart enough to go out on the drunkiest night of the year with my NAME scrawled in the general area of my area, so if people forget my name --
NICKY: -- or if you forget your own name.
PARIS: TOTALLY. What was I talking about?
NICKY: You're smart enough to prepare for the eventuality of forgetting your own name, or for the very likely possibility of your hook-up being too drunk to remember it, so you purposely wore a dress with it scrawled across your gut in sequins.
PARIS: Oh, right. You sound smart tonight.
NICKY: Just in comparison.
November 27, 2007
Fuggo: The Genetic Fug
[Photo: Splash News]
"Hi, Nicky, it's me. Your sister. The blond one who isn't you. Some people call me Paris, although I made that one guy call me Lady Cleavage of the Nude the other night and I kind of liked that better because I don't have to share that name with anyone. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I went through your lingerie drawer after I read your diary -- um, not that your diary has anything to do with this, but I did think it was funny when you wrote "Mary-HATE" instead of "Mary-Kate" and then drew a devil face on the "O" in "Olsen." Where was I, though? Oh right, your vibrator drawer. I borrowed a slip from you, because after all that itchy, sweaty stretchy velvet, I couldn't handle the idea of that much fabric. YOU know how much I'd always rather be naked. I mean, for one thing, you read it when Man-Paris glued that "I'd Rather Be Naked" bumper sticker to my ass and I kept it for a year just so people would know. Plus, I figure that I wore more material in that one dress than I had the entire YEAR put together! I totally earned the right to wear your nightie with tights. So just deal with it. What's yours is mine, anyway, because I'm older, and that's how it works, which is why I also copied David Katzenberg's number out of your cell-thingy. Okay? Sweet! So... uh, yeah. Call me back when you get this, or one of my other messages. Whatever. Do you have my number? I don't know it but I know it has a three in there somewhere. Bye! Love, Paris. Oh, P.S., I got my shoes from Goodwill. HA! Take THAT, all you people who think I don't do charity work."
November 26, 2007
Fugfessions of an Heiress
You know, Paris Hilton takes a lot of crap -- including from us -- about all kinds of things: cultivating a public persona of vapid vacuity as though that were a state to be aspired to; public drunkenness and driving under the influence; and all the needless nudity and sex tapery. But you can't say she never did anything for us:
Frankly, it's downright brave of her to demonstrate the dangers of stretch velvet in public like this. Think of all the people she's saved from heinous crimes of figure-assault this holiday season alone!
October 24, 2007
Fuggo: The Fugetic Opera
Blurry stills are leaking out from the set of the hotly anticipated -- by people who like to laugh -- Repo! The Genetic Opera, a musical film about hijinks in a world where people's organs are failing like crazy and if you can't keep up with the payments for your replacement parts, a Repo Man comes and fetches 'em out of your body. Doesn't it just already make you want to break into song? It's like Rent combined with a Twilight Zone episode.
Mostly, the only reason anyone is keeping tabs on the movie is because it features Paris Hilton. In a singing part. On purpose. It's allegedly part of her attempt to prove that, like Sears, she has a softer side. A side that actually likes to work hard for the money, so hard for it honey.
[Photo: Splash News]
And yet... doesn't this particular still look less like, "Oh, sweet Paris, she's building a career," than, "Oh, Paris must be making invitations for her next big Halloween party"? This is about what I imagined All Hallows' Eve looks like at her manse: bustiers, wigs, hideous clothing, dry-ice machines desperately belching out ambiance, and of course a pair of muscular naked dudes in harnesses holding parasols. Maybe this movie is more of a documentary than I thought.
October 03, 2007
Fugs Are Blind
ALEXA VEGA: Oh my GOD, I can't believe I'm getting photographed with PARIS HILTON. This is so AWESOME.
PARIS: What are you, person? You remind me of something.
ALEXA: My movie Spy Kids?
PARIS: No! Duh -- I hate science. I think it's... you kind of look like Lindsay Lohan rolling out of some dude's hotel room at seven in the morning.
ALEXA: Dammit, it's the stain on my pants, isn't it? I KNEW it was noticeable.
PARIS: No, that just reminds me of the time I puked all over Nicky's Cyndi Lauper costume.
ALEXA: When you were kids?
PARIS: Yeah, like two whole years ago, and she's STILL mad at it, like, whatever, I don't even REMEMBER anything else about that year. She tried to tell me that I didn't need to bring breath mints out with us on Halloween because it wasn't THAT kind of trick-or-treating, and I got so mad at her for killing my buzz.
PARIS: But THIS year I'm going as Wayne from Wayne's World. But, like, a sexy man-girl Wayne. The kind with BOOBS. This is most of what I'm wearing. Isn't it hott? You want me.
ALEXA: One time I got to...
PARIS: Hey listen, if I cut off one of your braids, could I smoke it?
ALEXA: What? So now you don't like my...
PARIS: I told Larry King I would be good. It's not illegal to inhale if I'm smoking hair, right?
ALEXA: I can't believe you're allowed to wear a wig and a trucker hat, and you're ragging on me for looking like Pippi Longstocking just discovered the 80s floor at Polly Esther's.
PARIS: Longstocking? What's that, like a body condom?
ALEXA: I'm beginning to think I've made a huge mistake.
September 24, 2007
One Night in Fug
Last night, I was chatting with a friend about Jessica Simpson -- namely that she seems to be heading for several decades of Sunset Boulevard-esque decline (sorry, Jess. It just seems possible. Maybe you should buy a monkey and accept it). But now that I think about it, Paris Hilton seems to be embracing her inner Norma Desmond as well:
Albeit in what seems to be an incredibly cheerful way. And she, of course, has already gone to the trouble of buying a monkey -- which then, of course, attacked her and later was confiscated by the state, although it appears from this photo that they eventually returned him to her so she could make him into a collar for her coat. PETA is totally going to set Pamela Anderson on her for this, and it's not going to be pretty.
September 10, 2007
VMA Fug Carpet: Paris Hilton
What? Just because my sister Nicky had a big fashion show in New York City, and my parents were there, and her boyfriend was there, and it was really important to her, you expect me to just DROP EVERYTHING and GO? This is the VMAs, beeyotch, and I don't know if you HEARD me when I was writing sensitive things about homeless people, Diary, but I was in PRISON FOR A LONG LONG TIME. What's a cougar to do?
What, I can't be a cougar now? Who cares if I'm not old enough? Since when am I not allowed to be fashionable? Demi Moore and Kim Cattrall are, like, all up in the young ass right now and everyone LOVES IT. So I figure, if I dress like a desperate matron, I'm IN. I can look 40! For real! See? Dina Lohan WISHES she looked this old and Up For Anything! That Shia Le Boeuf seems like he's in the market for an older woman to teach him the ways of a lady. He doesn't have to know I'm not that much further along than he is.
God, you're such a spoil-sport, Diary. Did Nicky put you up to this? She's so boring. I'm totally throwing you away.
August 29, 2007
As alternately ordinary and twee as I find Amanda Bynes' clothing line -- note to Steve & Barry's: If it looks like everything costs under $20, then it automatically takes the novelty out of your pricing plan -- I will say this for her: She didn't paint her face all over everything and then expect you to pay for the privilege of having her eyes staring out from the vicinity of your nipples.
I guarantee you these vain little babies cost more than $20 (the shirts, I mean, but possibly also the girl). The Warholian number behind Paris's right shoulder is a deliciously conceited treat, as is the one that entreats you to "LUV THYSELF," as long as you don't do it enough to buy a shirt that's properly spelled. But the Main Event is my favorite. It's like she's depicting herself behind bars in a prison run by Victoria's Secret. Yep, held captive by her own indomitable sex appeal -- that's our Paris.
Although, is it just me, or does she look a wee bit haggard? Maybe she was up all night crying her eyes out when she realized her flippy new 'do is just a poor, shaggy clone of Posh's coif, and therefore David Beckham would never be likely to get them confused and accidentally take Paris home for a night of muscular passion. But chin up, Paris; iit's just as well. See, you don't want to cross Victoria Beckham, or you'll end up learning the hard way how many different torturous uses there are for a press-on nail.
August 21, 2007
The Fugple Life
[Photo: Splash News]
IT TOTALLY WORKED. That whole prison thing? GENIUS. Everyone should do it. Although I don't want them to, because then EVERYONE will be as adored as I am... but if they DO, they'll all be copying me, so maybe that's okay, too. But seriously, prison was a total epitome for me, Diary. For one thing, it expanded my vocabulation -- Bitchmaster Nunchucks taught me "epitome" while we were in the yard one day writing poems about homeless people. It means... shoot, I forget. Something to do with having a big realization. Or, wait, was it something about pretty mouths? I get confused sometimes with all the stuff I learned.
ANYWAY, I got out and everyone loves me now. Larry King said my diaries that I wrote in my cell were "unbelievable," or something, and a million people -- maybe even FIVE million -- lined up to come see my clothing line at Kitson, and I've stopped hanging out with toxic people (although sometimes THEY still hang around ME; I can't control THEIR free will, Diary. I learned THAT while I was meditating over a bologna sandwich). And now I go around tickling babies under their chins and giving them wisdom, like, "Kid, I hope you're wearing diapers under those shorts in case you're getting out of a cab and they ride up," or "Never let anyone photograph you eating ever again," and "Don't act like a total whore to your best friend who is just innocent and loving and then try to make up for the cameras and then get pregnant during your former BFF's time of need IN PRISON and act all sainted and shit when everyone knows you're just a HUNGRY COW HAG," and "Always wear as much shiny gold stuff as you can." That last one is my philosophy now. In fact, I wish I hadn't worn this bathing suit and sarong -- I call them "shirt and skirt" but Second Maid snorted at me and told me to use their real names, so whatever, FINE -- or else I could wear them to the VMAs. I totally would. I am hot.
Also, that Adrian Grenadine dude from Entourage has started letting himself be seen with me in public, for some documentary he's shooting about... I think it's about awesome hotties that people love. That might even be the title. But you know what's unfair? I'll show you what's unfair.
[Photo: Splash News]
That shadow over my face is unfair. Adrian couldn't even look at me. He was staring off into what professional actors call "middle distance" -- I've been taking classes, see -- and giggling. I didn't think it was THAT weird of a shadow but he kept reassuring me with stuff like, "Wow, Paris, you've really got the whole package," and "You really took your lumps with that DUI thing," and, "That must have been a real testes of your character," and, "I mean, you've got BALLS," and then he asked me if I'd ever seen some movie called Polterwang and then he had to walk away for a few minutes to compose himself because his eyes were tearing up (I think he's got allergies). But I'm so MAD that my big moment with Adrian Gren-thingy got spoiled by his allergies. And the shadows. God, they make my nose look like Mr. Burns'.
Which actually is okay, because everyone loves The Simpsons. Woohoo! PARIS WINS AGAIN, BITCHES. Now, I need to go find another baby to cuddle. I have a few months before that raging skankface pops hers out and I want everyone to be sick of blondes with babies by then. Also, I'm a maternal nurturer and it's time for the world to know that being held to Paris's bosom is more than just a Friday night thing. Or at least that's what my publicist told me.
August 17, 2007
One Fug in Paris
I'll say this for Paris Hilton: she may be a spoiled jailbird with an unbelievable sense of entitlement, but at least the girl knows how to make an entrance:
[Photo: Splash News]
No Amanda Bynes-like skulking into a Steve + Barry's in a hoodie for her, oh no. (Confidential to Amanda Bynes: sorry for all the grief lately. I actually really find you adorable and charming. But apparently your clothing line enrages me in a kind of irrational way. Just stick to movies where you talk Colin Firth into wearing leather pants.) No, Paris arrives places (ie: Kitson) to promote her clothing line (oy) in an armored vehicle dressed like the offspring of a mermaid and an Old Navy coin purse. She's so SHINY and sparkly and obvious, wearing what Las Vegas would look like if it were a dress, that, in a way, I have to hand it to her for, at least, not being totally boring. And then put my sunglasses on, because if the sun hits her the wrong way, we're all going to be blinded.