By Lex August 04, 2014 @ 11:44 AM
I guess the deal was we get two Ebola infected patients and we send Paris Hilton back to Africa. It’s something like the atlantic triangular slave trade except it’s all microscopic infectious diseases now. However Paris jumped her transport when she sniffed out a potential mate on the Spanish Island of Ibiza. She tore a hole in the fuselage of her plane and guided herself safely to the ground by retracting her lazy eye and igniting all the cocaine inside to serve as a retro-rocket booster. At least it’s an island. She’s started banging men there like this Patient Zero but it can be contained. Some people and Barbary macaques will be lost. But nothing like Atlanta’s going to be hit when Ebola man escapes his pod to hit the champagne room at Cheetahs and 50,000 Georgians start choking to death on their own blood.
Photo Credit: AKM-GSI, FameFlynet
By Lex July 28, 2014 @ 10:14 AM
My heartstrings could use a little advanced notice on Paris Hilton breakups. Apparently she doesn’t understand how many of us live through her romantic and viral transmission escapades. The last I heard Paris was dating that teen boy model with the name that reminded everybody how many times he got same-sex raped as a child. I guess that’s over. Now she’s making out with this new guy in front of her beach house. I thought he might be black, but then I remembered Paris hates black people. Then again, she loves publicity more than she hates dark skinned men, so it’s tough to say. Summer love is like that. Whimsical and largely unprotected. Welcome to the Eskimo brotherhood of the puss-filled urine, random stranger.
Photo Credit: FameFlynet
By Lex July 21, 2014 @ 9:08 AM
Only mostly everybody at Chris Brown’s Kick’N’ It for Charity Celebrity Kickball game in Glendale had rap sheets. Chris, DJ Khaled, The Game, and a few other charitable fellows famous for drugs and beating women showed up for a cause nobody could actually name. Paris Hilton’s jail house record got her into the match where she showed that one lazy eye and nonchalance is all it takes to not be able to kick a slow moving rubber ball. The Jenner girls showed looking for future abusive boyfriends. Their teen friend Pia Mia Perez arrived off the plane Kanye flies her around in international air space so he can sodomize her without fear or legal reprisal. After the final run was scored the U.S. Attorney showed up with a court order preventing that same group of convicts from being within five hundred feet of one another. It’s really hard to think of anything more Americana than this Amish barn raising.
Photo Credit: AKM-GSI
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