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Poor Paris Hilton. She doesn’t know whether she’s coming or going these days. She’s in, she’s out, and then she’s back in again.
You know, Paris should have quit while she was ahead. She was sentenced to 45 days, cut to 23 days with good-time credit. But some mysterious, unspecified medical condition sends her home to the Hollywood Hills with an electronic bracelet. What’s up with that? What did she do—I mean say—to that sheriff to get him to spring her—against court order—to home detention. Come on, Paris, inmates everywhere want to know.
Where does Paris find these people? First Elliot Mintz, her “representative,” who told her it was all right to drive on a suspended license. Then Los Angeles County’s Sheriff Baca, whom, I speculate, was probably paid—I mean conned—by Ms. Hilton’s psychiatrist. And ultimately, the psychiatrist himself who invented—I mean diagnosed—this mysterious illness serious enough to keep Paris out of a jail cell. What, does she have a rash or something? Is it lack of alcohol? What’s wrong with her? I know—it has something to do with the droopy eye, doesn’t it? Nobody ever mentions the droopy eye. That’s got to be it.
I felt bad, actually—but just for a second. I thought, should Paris be sent back to jail to max out her 45-day sentence because some bozo sheriff decided he should defy a court order and spring her? I mean, is that really fair? I could see sending her back to finish the 23 days, and maybe the sheriff could serve 23 days for contempt in the cell beside her.
Then I started thinking. If Paris hadn’t been driving drunk, there would not have been a probation to violate—not once, but twice. She’s not in jail for a traffic violation, like a lot of people think she is. She’s in jail for violating the probation to which she was sentenced as a result of drunk driving. It’s pretty cut and dry. Yet there are some who feel Paris should be allowed to continue to careen around the streets of Los Angeles with no license, a DUI conviction, and two probation violations under her belt. Hey, I know! Let’s wait until she mows over a baby in a carriage! Then everyone can say, “Something should have been done about her a long time ago.” Oh, well. Everyone has their own way of looking at things.
Now it’s time for Paris to stop crying, put on her big-girl pants and take this for the golden opportunity it is. How can she pen her memoirs or draft her autobiographical screenplay if she’s sprung from the pokey? Who would be interested in the story of her home confinement? That won’t get any attention. The 12 x 8 cell she calls home now isn’t as big as her closet and will surely make for good film. Paris’ public wants the seedy details of life behind bars. And spare no details; by all means, tell all. They want to hear about her vermin-infested cell, the maggot-ridden meat, the weevil-ridden bread, the taunting by other inmates, the threats on her life, the runny green Jello. And of course, the life-changing revelations that will undoubtedly occur to Ms. Hilton like light dawning on Marblehead. Why, I bet that immediately upon her release, Paris will embark on a tour of third-world countries and start adopting babies left and right.
And now she has forty more days to tack on? How lucky is that? She’ll be able to have final drafts done in time for the homecoming party.
You know, I betcha Paris can get a date with that sheriff, if she plays her cards right.
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