Paris to Fashion Penal Ware

The stupid, spoiled, whore we all love to hate is at it again, folks. And this time, she's going down -- not on Rick Solomon's poor excuse of a shrinky-dink, tickle dick, but for felony drug possession charges. News of her .8 gram cocaine bust spread faster than the herpes on her cavernous spelunking cesspool vagina last Friday night, and I couldn't help but rejoice and be glad even more than the times she was bucked off a horse and punched by her pet kinkaju monkey, Baby Luv.
For the record, I hate Paris Hilton. She has no discernible talent whatsoever and is as vacant as the pubic hair on her sideways bacon sandwich that's flopping around in the wind and constantly thrust into the public eye because she refuses put on a pair of underwear. Moreover, she looks like she's suffering chromosomal damage with that drooping eyelid and cock nose. It's enough that I have to endure the auditory raping of her Stars are Blind singing attempt, but she continues to try to make herself relevant with sex tapes, perfumes, books, TV shows and now criminal offenses. I wish we could all be so lucky as to run away from her like her precious Chihuahua, Tinkerbell. I hope someone hangs her by her Crenshaw-looking weave when they throw over-privileged ass in the clinker.