Proving yet again that life is ALWAYS funnier than anything those fellows from the Jon Stewart Show could cook up, Paris Hilton today vowed to do her Rosie the Riveter-like part to help the struggling global economy. By shopping even more than she usually does. Haute couture salons across the world heaved a mighty sigh of relief at the pronouncement, chilled to the bone as they were at the thought of not being able to sell just one more Hermes scarf to our pretty princess from the hills of Los Angeles by way of the L.A. County Jail. I think “Prison Break, Third World Cesspool,” could really use the talents of this girl. Really. And I’d like to arrange for her to get cracking on a location shoot in say, Chechnya, just as soon as I can scrape together the dollar or two it’d take to ship her via USPS Fourth Class mail.
Are today’s celebs really this tone deaf? It wasn’t always so, from what I’ve read. Marlene Dietrich, who wasn’t even born in the United States, actually went to the mattresses (literally) with a U.S. tank soldier, in his tank, near the front lines during the Korean War. God, that’s the kind of patriotism and fervor we need from our overfed and over-pampered glitterati. Not this trite exercise in shopping-as-therapy-disguised-as do-gooder-chic-ism. And to prove I’m willing to do my part, I’d like to be the first to volunteer for back rubs from Jessica Biel or Megan Fox (of Transformers fame). Believe me, this writing stuff is hard.
As fired up as I am about getting the great capitalist global economy humming (those socialist slugs over in Venezuela can get right to the back of the bus, for all I care), I just can’t see how Ms. Hilton’s offer is either sincere or really effective. Maybe she can ship a few hundred thousand dollars of those appearance fees she seems to snatch from promoters at will (these guys pay through the nose to get her to appear at one of their events) over to Equatorial Africa, where thousands of kids a day die from the effects of malaria or malnutrition. Barring that, she could at least pay enough out to all those Internet sites that still feature her little “movie auditions” to get them to pull her scenes down once and for all. I swear, after the seven-hundredth time watching them, they begin to get a little boring. Not that I’d know anything about that. It’s just what I’ve heard some of my friends tell me. Me? I’m as clean as a preacher’s sheets. By the way; Dolly Parton was right: There’s no such thing as negative publicity, it seems. Or shame, for that matter.
I don’t know what’s sadder; the fact something so trite and inane as an offer to keep shopping was reported on as if it actually was, uh, news, or that I once was fooled into thinking the little minx from Los Angeles was transformed by time spent as one of those “home girls in Cellblock Six,” to paraphrase a line from the great Kid Rock.
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