Tuesday, 28 May 2013

Pondering Paris

Another day, another Fast & Furious film. And also, another question. A question that’s really got me thinking.

Thinking is to me as what bad film choices are to Matthew Fox: It all comes naturally, and without having any lasting impact on anyone. But this particular curveball has me thrown.

Thrown like the baseball Amy Adams tossed at Clint “The Crypt-keeper” Eastwood not too long ago. The throw barely heard around the world. (Lucky for Amy, she has Lois to lean on. While Clint’s next cameo could be in a casket.)

Anyway, back to that question, which was: “What’s hotter: Paris Hilton or a haemorrhoid?”

First up, how many others have already made this comparison? Nicole Richie? Greek heirs Paris soiled the souvlakis of? Teenage boys with brains who still suffer nightmares from her first independent feature and Hole-y-wood debut? The numbers stack up higher than the levelm from which Vince Vaughn has fallen.

Secondly, both are remarkably difficult and expensive to get rid of. And while you consider this point, treat yourself and relive the magic from House of Wax where that delightful pole enters her empty head. Surely it's a similar process for treating a rampant case of ‘roids, right? And the results: just as satisfying.

But poor Paris. Poor, rich Paris. How many sets of ears have bled because of her burgeoning career in music? And how many days did she not spend behind bars? (The steel ones – days away from those with flutes and folly you’d expect have been far fewer.)

It's probably unfair to punish Paris now when she’s contributed so little (for once, hey?). Now we have the Kardashians, and they were tthe cure – that toxic cream capable of clearing up Hilton’s head in the social pages. There’s little she haunts us with these days.

So this question, Rose: Why wasn't it asked back when the Stars Were Blind?

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