One rant on Paris

I don’t consider myself to be a grumpy person, or particularly intolerant. Things just seem to piss me off. Like people who wear excessive amounts of pink, text slang (LMAO), and birds (of the feathered kind). They have no purpose other than to shit on your head and make you look like a tit.

But the thing that has pissed me off most recently is Paris Hilton. Paris Hilton is a tool. To be honest, I can’t say that I ever liked her in the first place. For a while, her stupidity and general lack of talent amused me, but now she has got to be stopped. I didn’t think it possible, but she seems to be getting even more thick. On a recent trip to South Africa she asked, “If I bought a cheetah, would it run away from me or could I keep it?” Whatever drug she is taking at this moment in time, it’s killing her brain cells, and she really doesn’t have that many to spare.

And since hooking up with Benji from generic American rock outfit Good Charlotte, she has gone from fake-tanned Barbie doll to emo wannabe. Good Charlotte were passable as a band before, but since they started going out with dumb and dumber (dumb being Nicole Ritchie and dumber being Paris Hilton), they have gone down in my estimation.

And don’t even get me started on her sunglasses. They are a good fashion accessory if it’s sunny, but not 24 hours a day. At first I thought she might be wearing them after some kind of fart-involving prank gave her pink eye, but no amount of poo particles would last this long, surely.

Someone needs to tell Paz that she isn’t, and never will be, cool. Hence it is now my main ambition in life to tell her that she looks like a twat. I’ll probably get mutilated by one of her bodyguards in the process, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.

LYNSEY HOUGH

See next month’s Arena for what the American press made of Paris’s new film