June 8, 2015 | bikini | Lex Jurgen | 0 Comments
It’s hard to say which of the fractured Hilton ducklings is the least horrible. I’m going with Nicky. In ten years of tracking celebrities I’ve never seen Nicky not on her cellphone, but fuck, if the worst thing you can say about a Hilton is they’re a tedious chatterbug, you have you best Hilton ever. After dropping out of fashion school and pretending to run a few phony failed businesses in her 20’s, Nicky Hilton had begun to lack purpose. There were insidious rumors she was keeping down her meals. Somebody found her a British banking Rothschild which is a nice get if everyone agrees the Jewish ancestral line isn’t to be discussed. Nicky’s now to be settled into a life of charity balls, a single child named Baron Escalade, and a molasses slow suicide from three parts of a Heath Ledger cocktail. Paris has already picked out the dress and color coordinated selfie stick. The Winans gospel will bring the crowd to tears. Who let the colored folk in through the front door?
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