Jail House Frock

Okay. So who else is getting sick to death of hearing about notorious Bimbostein, Paris-dumbfuck-Hilton?

It’s been nearly three weeks now of this continued nonsense and STILL we are condemned to hearing about her every movement to and from LA’s Century Regional Detention Facility located in Lynwood, California.

The news is run amok with gossip. She’s depressed; she’s bored; she’s crying all the time. God, make it all stop! It’s enough to make you throw yourself in front of a moving bus.

Never mind what car bombs are blowing up innocents where or whatever the latest breaking news is on our on-going War-Against-Whatever-It-Is-We’re-Fighting-These-Days – some blonde rich bitch has run into trouble with the law! Suddenly, the entire planet’s attention has been temporarily diverted to the whole debacle that is Paris Hilton going to jail.

The whole story began little over three weeks ago when Paris turned herself into the LA Men’s Correctional Fascility at approximately 10:30PM after attending a ritzy MTV Movie Awards party beforehand.

She was then escorted to the all-women's facility in Lynwood, where she was booked, fingerprinted, photographed, medically screened and issued an unfashionably orange prison uniform. Although to my horny mind, I prefer to envision her booking process as more of the messy love scene from the movie Backbeat.

Her mug shot portrayed her in what appeared to be a designer V-neck shirt, eye makeup and lip-gloss that highlighted the faintest hint of a flirty smile. Her long blond hair was draped over one shoulder a la Sports Illustrated. For all purposes, it looked like just another ordinary prima donna photograph from one of her recent modeling shoots. The kind of look she might make when she's deciding on which color of nail polish to purchase.

All seemed to be going considerably well under the circumstances for the world’s favorite Celebutante. “I am trying to be strong right now,” Paris said of her jail time set to begin that Tuesday. “I'm really scared but I'm ready to face my sentence.”

Brave words. But from there the floodgates opened up.

The Hollywood rumor mill began to fly almost immediately that Paris was not going to be able to handle her 45-day jail sentence.

My first thought was “only 45 days”? Shit, David Blaine spent seven days submerged inside a fish bowl for Pete’s sake! And after only one day inside a 12-by-8-foot jail cell, cut off from the spoils of her high society lifestyle, poor Paris is already sniveling like a redheaded stepchild.

News reports and gossip columnists began reporting that Paris was not eating or sleeping and spending much of her days crying in her cell or on her phone. As a result, the Sheriff’s department later released her under house arrest instead due to a “mysterious medical condition”.

But lets back up for a moment…

Not eating or sleeping? Am I supposed to take this seriously? The girl weighs about 100 lbs. soaking wet. It looks like she exists on a Skittle-a-day as it is. Clearly, here is a chick that hasn’t had many steak dinners as it is – at least not ones she’s keeping down anyway. She has the same body build of a detained Prisoner of War.

A little cereal, bread, and juice would do Paris some good!

And for the not sleeping part – isn’t she a notorious fixture of the LA nightclub scene? When Paris goes clubbing we’re not talking about baby seals here.

Hardly a tabloid ever hits the news stands these days without a snapshot of a gussied up Ms. Hilton whooping it up at all hours of the night and throwing around her trademark pouty smile for the legions of cameramen.

So I’m hardly worried now that suddenly she isn’t getting a decent night’s sleep.

It was also mentioned that she complained incessantly about her jail cell being too bright and too cold.

Cold? Well, duh! She’s the equivalent in weight to that of an anorexic gerbil.

Hey, here’s an idea: FUCKING EAT SOMETHING! Put some meat on those bones! Have a cupcake or something, sweetheart. A few extra calories at this point might just improve your core temperature by a few degrees. As it is now, this detained debutante would complain about being cold on the surface of the sun!

Now, for the “being too bright” part.

Okay. I may be able to sympathize with her on this point. Hey, what with all that lucrative night clubbing and late night soirees, the sudden increase in light intensity has probably fucked up all her rods and cones permanently. After all, she probably hasn’t seen the light of day since she hit puberty. Her world is one of darkened dance clubs and underground hotel room porno shoots – not bright florescent lighting.

So throw her a satin sleepers mask and be done with it!

No sooner had Paris began the first few days into her sentence for driving with a suspended license then she was released by the Sheriff’s department on the urging of her psychologist who claimed that poor Paris was suffering from an undisclosed medical condition only 24 short hours later.

Umm, when did being s-t-u-p-i-d constitute as a “medical condition”?

Honestly. Sign me up. I’m ready for the Bar Exam right now.

Whatever the case, Paris was released back to her LA mansion under house arrest where she immediately ordered VIP service from the “Tan Van” in celebration of her release from the Big House.

Now, how is this justice exactly? Because being waited on hand and foot in a luxury mansion that makes Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory seem like a cushion fort by comparison, just doesn’t sound like punishment to me.

Shit, if that’s the punishment for drinking while impaired – “Bring me another double, garcon! And warm up the Limo. Daddy’s going for a drive.”

Also, as part of the terms for her house arrest, Paris was required to wear a GPS tracking system on her ankle.

GASP!

Won’t somebody puh-lease think of the tans lines here?!

Yeah, and that’s going to be very effective tracking her whereabouts around a Hollywood Hills mansion. What’s the point? The chick is so skinny it’ll probably just drop off the second she leaves the squad car anyway.

In the meantime, Paris’ neighbors have taken up the campaign to have her evicted from the neighborhood. Leaflets - distributed by Christopher Hauck and Anne Goursaud - read: “Since the arrival of Paris Hilton to our neighborhood, we have seen our quality of life deteriorate.” The pamphlets urge members of the immediate community to contact the police and councilmen to seek for her removal from the Hollywood Hills area.

It seems the neighbors have been complaining about the sound of overhead helicopters since the whole situation began. Even Cameron Diaz who lives in the area stated:

“She just has to get plastered all over the world. There were 10 helicopters above her house, which I live not too far from. I was like, 'Could you please keep it down.

“We all suffer when Paris suffers.”

I’m like, okay, Cameron. Thanks for downplaying the whole situation.

It must really suck to have your poolside Guatemalan Spa treatment continually interrupted by the paparazzi.

But the house arrest was not to be. Paris was later dragged back to the Twin Towers mental fascility kicking and screaming in the back of a Sheriff’s car once again only to be returned to Lynwood. I’d be lying if I said the images of Paris sobbing in the back seat of a police car wouldn’t fuel many future fantasy’s to come I assure you!

It seems that some judge was royally pissed that the Sheriff’s department would release the ‘Simply Life’ star only two days into her sentence. So the handcuffed heiress was mandated to serve out the rest of her 45-day sentence and a warrant was issued for her retrieval.

So much for “severe medical problems”. Just force-feed her meds down her throat like you were packing a goose with pate and be done with it. Problem solved.

Just be sure to check her care packages of Beluga caviar for nail files.

On the positive side, things have seemingly gone well for other jail detainees since Paris has returned however. Recently released Rosemary Gibbons, 35, told the New York Daily News: “Since she was here last week, they started giving us double bologna, double apple juices. Two blankets instead of one - and a sheet, too! Everyone has cookies coming out of their pockets.

“Now we feel like we are in the Hilton Hotel.”

Atta girl, Rosemary. Onward and upward!