Lost and Found: One Hotel Chain Heiress
What the hell happened to Paris Hilton?
Or, should I say, where the hell?
The Parisian flag is flying so low these days that paparazzi tried to make a big play out of the almost-blonde’s visit to a Baja Fresh burrito restaurant in Beverly Hills yesterday. Heavens, she had lunch! Did she go with the pinto beans or the black beans? The public demands an answer.
It’s been a full week without a single real story about Paris Hilton in the tabloids. And, even then, it was just your run-of-the-mill, ‘Paris gets drunk and fights with boyfriend and cops are called’ story. Been there, done that.
I can’t help but wonder if Paris’ moon isn’t in retrograde, or some such astrological nonsense to describe why the former queen of the gossip scene has been relegated to “Guess who ate a taco?” celebrity news.
If the world were a supermarket, we’d be hearing the store manager on the public address system asking if anybody’s lost a hotel chain heiress and could we please come to the front counter to pick her up. There we would find poor Paris, tears in her eyes, a bottle of Stoli wrapped in her quivering palm, wondering if anybody is going to claim her.
We’d wrap her in a Juicy Couture pink blankie and walk her back to her Mercedes SLR, reassuring her that it’d only take the next DUI or sex tape to bring her right back to the top, but all the while knowing her reign may very well be at an end.
Tell the world what you think: Is Paris destined for the dust heap of celebrities past or does the old gal have an even more gloriously undignified future ahead of her?