By Lex July 14, 2014 @ 12:32 PM
There’s no bigger mood killer than when Jeremy Jackson shows up at your party screaming, “Don’t you know who I am? I was on Baywatch and Celebrity Rehab.” Paris Hilton was just trying to kick it with some of her Valley of the Dolls 30-something besties at her Malibu summer mansion when Jeremy Jackson rose from the dead and busted into her party. Jeremy’s drunken advances were quickly thwarted by poor equipped brother Barron Hilton, the human Hollywood party punching bag, who took a few Yeats chops to the mug for his chivalry. You may recall Barron also got his ass kicked last December in Miami when Lindsay Lohan ordered a disco beat down on his ass because one or both of them were tweaked out of their gourds and it seemed funny.
When Jeremy Jackson kept advancing like a drunken panzer and got his hands around Brandon Davis, all the heirs and heiresses panicked as the life of their drug connect flashed before their eyes. Jasmine Waltz, cocktail waitress famed for punching Lindsay Lohan in the face and therefore a natural ally of the Hiltons, grabbed a vodka bottle and smashed it over Jackson’s head. Quick thinking from a bar fight veteran. Then everybody called 911 to claim they were assaulted while the public relations reps started concocting their fake stories. Barron Hilton and Jeremy Jackson were both driven to the hospital where they agreed in desperation to lick the last bit of cocaine off each other’s cocks. All the party guests later texted each other and agreed to do it again next Saturday.
Photo credit: Splash News
By Lex July 11, 2014 @ 9:22 AM
Every now and then a song comes along that you hear and just know the music world will never be the same. Paris Hilton’s Come Alive is not one of those songs. Unless we’re limiting our definition of the music world to the discos in Qatar where this bit of auditory sheizen will be hailed by guests sucking down Rum and Tab sodas. Paris Hilton is to musical composition what the Jenner sisters are to dystopian universe story telling. The not so bad looking dim bulb mannequins in the window. Paris’ uninspired bit of auto-tuned party girl cliches will likely make the boys at Cash Money Records some dough, they take off first dollar. Paris might see enough to buy three barrels of cheek makeup and some organic crackers for her dog. Still, the launch party looked amazing as up to seventeen employees of the label’s P.R. firm were forced to act excited to see Paris DJ her own new track. All good things eventually come to an end. Really fucking crappy things take a bit longer, so, be patient.
Photo Credit: Getty, Pacific Coast News
By Lex July 07, 2014 @ 3:44 PM
The Hilton sisters eminent domain a beach house each summer in Malibu where they can store their party drugs and giggle like dullards at their great-grandfather’s writings on the chaste life. Every fourth of July, the inflamed one and the boring one hold a blowout 4th of July beach party to celebrate being pretend DJs and fashion mavens and to show the world that being rich and white is still pretty damn awesome. If you don’t leave the party with a serious buzz or an uncomfortable itch along the base of your shaft, you probably didn’t stay long enough.
Photo Credit: INFphoto.com, FameFlynet, Splash
By Lex June 30, 2014 @ 5:00 PM
The BET people really need to work on their pro forma white invites. I understand you’re black entertainment for everybody, including wealthy white heiresses with hot new house music singles tracking in Qatar. But maybe you don’t pick the girl with the racist background as your token blond. You couldn’t land a Michael Bolton or maybe Leslie Mann and her gimp? Just some cracker to show you care about all God’s creatures. Do you realize how many Hollywood whiteys would jump at the chance to be marginalized for this noble cause? Consider me disappointed. I can’t even see Paris’ nipples.
Photo Credit: Pacific Coast News, FameFlynet, Getty
By Lex June 26, 2014 @ 1:45 PM
It’s easy to forget that Paris Hilton is a significant music artist in countries where they still burn goats to make it rain. I was pretty convinced she’d never cut it in the rough U.S. market until I saw that the people who make the hair for Madame Tussaud’s figured out a super natural looking wig for Paris that subtly covers up her lazy eye. Paris Hilton has a musical story to tell. It’s buried deep inside, tucked in next to the bag of ye-yo she keeps stored in the upper left ventricle of her four chamber snatch. That music needs to come out. If you stare at her panties and concentrate, maybe you won’t notice how truly fucking horrible it is.
Photo Credit: Pacific Coast News
By Lex June 11, 2014 @ 12:10 PM
Under new ownership, Maxim magazine continues its on-again off-again tradition of inviting really good looking foreign models to its Maxim Hot 100 celebration. Last year saw the Miley Cyrus incident that cost the waning periodical its nut sack in pride. They seem to have righted their ship this year by bringing out girls who have a better understanding of how to put on lipstick. These are the girls who were told as far back as they can remember how pretty they were, because they were, not because they had a kids TV show that was paying for all the Range Rovers in the family.
Photo Credit: Getty