Thursday, April 29, 2004

12:48 PM

Hate: a love poem.


Paris Hilton is Omega beast of hot sticky death to all mankind.
Her famous for being famous fame is something that only America would create.
What has she done to further the efforts of human society to better itself?
She is the granddaughter of the founder of a hotel chain.
A chain, I might add that has a hotel that bears her name.
There is a Paris Hilton: the building, and a Paris Hilton: the person.
It was not enough to merely name her after a city , which is an interesting choice to begin with, but to name her after a building or name a building after her...
Is odd, to say the least. It ads another “which came first” thing for people with to much time on their hands to think about.
But, thats just her name. Its not really her fault her parents thought something that is incredibly tacky was incredibly cute.
She is apparently a model of some sort, a wearer of clothes that no one real can afford to buy.
A trend setter, of she of wearing her under wear in a visible way, a well trained poser for pictures.
You need only yell her name at her, and she falls back in to the fake casual pose of seduction that she does so well.
She must be pretty then, you would think.
She isn’t.
Her body forms a multitude of right angles, sharp point where her hinges meet.
Bones, jutting out of her flesh as if she does not have enough meat to cover them, which she doesn’t.
A face that looks as if it was made by Mattel in 1963.
One would doubt she is anatomically correct, if not for the tape.
Ah yes, the tape.
Shot in night vision, an invention that first came into our living rooms during the first Gulf War and has since been found to be useful for those with to much wealth to tape themselves creating more of those that have to much wealth.
Her eyes, glowing white, her skin a light green,
she turned and said “Hi!” to the screen.
She later claimed that the man she was with took advantage of her being really inane and taped her without her knowledge.
She didn’t realize that if you date someone that is famous for being the ex husband of Shannon Dorothy, when the rent comes due, sex tapes get sold.
I would imagine that coupling with someone made of sharp points and joints, would be similar to having relations with a folding chair.
At any minute, she could come collapsing down on you, returning to her folded position,
all snapping and pinching, a horror of a thing.

I hate Paris Hilton.
If you had not guessed that fact, by now, I shall worry about you.
I hate that I know who she is.
And its something that I did not seek out, it sought out me.
I hate that she exists, breathes, and has joy in her life.
There might be those of you that don’t know who this reality tv (an oxymoron if I ever heard one)star is.
And I envy you.
I advise keeping a set of needle nose pillars with you at all times, just incase someone mentions
her, then you could pull out your finger nails to avoid hearing about it.
You might think that I am over reacting, but you can’t afford to take that chance friend.
There is a piece of my soul that turned tar black and died when I learned the name Paris Hilton.
I hate her with every iota of my being, my heart meats pump but to move the hate of Paris Hilton around in my veins.
But don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t kick her out of bed or nothing.














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