Paris & Nicky Hilton

There are times when my ability to form coherent, complete sentences fails me.

This may be one of those times:

Is Man Paris SERIOUS? White, draw-stringed track pants...with crotchal graffiti? An acid-washed jacket...adorned with kooky man-plaid? Worn together... and not on Halloween? [Although Man Paris would have to be trick-or-treating dressed as Blind Man With Cruel, Joke-Playing Girlfriend for even that to fly.]

There's really only one explanation for this: Man Paris has been ordered by his family to break off his engagement to Paris Paris.  Man Paris, however, is terribly scared of Paris Paris's wrath, and is employing the age-old Boy Trick of Acting Like An Ass So She'll Break Up With Him First, and the first item on his list of assholery is, "Dress Like The Derelict Who Lives In Vanilla Ice's Dumpster."

Sadly, what Man Paris has failed to understand is that Paris Paris has an inordinately high tolerance for bad fashion -- as proved by her own wardrobe -- and he is probably going to have to move on to the next items on his list, "Try To Sleep With Nicole Ritchie," "Hit Nicky With Car [Not Too Hard]," and "Give Up Drinking."

Best of luck, Man Paris. Best of luck.

At first glance, this photo just looks like Paris Hilton is taking the gardener to the prom:

But then you look closer, and you realize you are stepping into a really vapid vortex of self-obsession:

Sweet LORD, Man-Paris, get a grip. Why are you wearing that out in public? When you're WITH her? I'm happy you're proud of her, and that you think her bod is bodacious, but save it for a time when she's not standing next to you in some kind of bizarre before-and-after tableau. Perhaps Girl-Paris is actually in the act hustling him out of a party, because she is, like, a totally hott businesswoman now, and the only way partial nudity will make people take her seriously is if she's slobbering all over a hamburger.

I know Paris Hilton was the Grand Marshal of the West Hollywood Gay Pride Parade this weekend -- and I just accidentally typed that as Gay Prude, an entirely different parade, and one at which Paris Hilton, I suspect, would not be terribly welcome -- but I had no idea she was embracing the Pride so very vehemently:

I mean, there's flying the Gay Pride flag, and then there's wearing it.  And then there's wearing it as a fringe-y tube dress by way of The Muppet Movie.

That being said, I really can't wait for this wedding. I presume the honeymoon will be televised.

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

"Heyyyy, like, you guys. How are you. I know I only have, like, one tone to my voice, so you can't tell if I'm asking or stating, or happy or sad, but I swear, like, I'm interested. Really. And I also want you to ask me, so I can tell you I'm engaged, and that it's like super awesome-cool to have sex with somebody where I can shout out my own name and he thinks I'm talking to him. Isn't that hott. Kind of like this outfit. I'm a total trendsetter, like, in the sense that I like to set trends by taking something trendy and doing something different to it, and that, like, sets it, or something.

"Take this outfit: I know the bohemian look is, like, in fashion right now, and stuff, but I ask you -- have you ever seen any peasants in Bohemia wear a sequined tank top with one of their skirts. No way. This hott look is mine, all mine. I know you think it doesn't match, but that's because you're not as smart about fashion as I am, because you don't set trends. See, if you had, like, knowledge, and stuff, you'd know that the patterns in the skirt and the shirt actually do match, because there is white in both of them. See, I am so smart. And I made the shirt. It used to be a dress, but I cut the bottom half off, because Nicole touched it once and said it would make a pretty lampshade.  But she's the lampshade. Yeah, that's right, I said it."

In a move that's a bit like asking Joan Rivers to give you a face-lift just because she's had eleventy-five of them herself, heiress and renowned do-nothing Nicky Hilton has begun designing clothes. And what perma-puckered-up shop would possibly plant so gushy a smooch on Ms. Hilton's Mystic Tanned behind? That would be the L.A. boutique Kitson, once fun but now intoxicated on the juice of its own ubiquity, which has fermented in the spotlight liberally afforded it by celebrity-stalking magazines.

So get thee to Kitson immediately if you want to buy a pair of jeans for $100 that a) look like Nicky based them on those old Calvins she drew on in fourth grade, b) have had the pockets removed, but boast a shadow of dark denim there as a nostalgic nod to what once was; and c) make a skinny model's butt look diaper-clad, or as if it belongs in orbit around the sun.

(And while you're there, don't pass up the rain-and-ice cream-themed hoodie, which I believe is either abstract art decrying lactose intolerance, or a picture Nicky drew in her youth entitled, "It's Fun When Nanny Cries").

Somewhere -- like, about mid-thigh -- this dress went from "funky" to "something the reprehensible Bobby Trendy would try to turn into a couch, and sell for $3,000 to insane pill hounds." In about ten minutes I expect Anna Nicole to pounce on Paris and dig around in her folds for a spare Percocet.

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

PARIS: Hey, Mrs. Meister. You look hott. Squished boobs are hott.

NICKY: Thanks, P, you bitch. You look... gold. Both your skin and your dress.

PARIS: Yeah. Tanning is hott. Orange really works for you, too. Anyway, the dress I wanted, I couldn't get, because the number was in my Sidekick and all these total, like, average people were calling the designer and asking for specially made, like, overalls and stuff. Overalls are hott, though.

NICKY: Where did you get it?

PARIS: It's an old dress of Mom's. Hand-me-downs are hott.

NICKY: Call it "vintage." That plays better. And get it tailored next time so it actually sort of fits and doesn't make you look matronly.

PARIS: I couldn't. Those Internet, like, thief-people posted a message I wrote about Mom's seamstress. Something about, "Tell spinster crotchrag she didnt take up miniskirt enuf -- not hott,'" or something, I don't know, but that skirt is going to be hott.

NICKY: Whatever. I have to go file a police report about the guy who mugged me on my way here.

PARIS: Don't. Knife-Attack Couture is hott.

NICKY: You're hott.

PARIS: I know.

We knew it would be only a matter of time before Paris Hilton fugged herself up again:

[Photo: FlynetOnline.com]

Love the shoes, but what is the appeal of the split knickers? It looks like she had an accident with some barbed wire. Maybe her vagina gets upset if it doesn't have some ventilation, or at least a nearby window.

Although I much prefer the image of Paris, having locked herself out of her home, hurling her body over a barbed-wire fence and getting her knickers caught, dangling there for twenty minutes screaming at her bodyguard to stop laughing and help her, dammit, instead of running off to 7-11 to buy a disposable camera.

Look, no one is more surprised than I am:

Someone's been taking lessons from Nicole "Girl, I Left The Fug Last Year And Haven't Ever Looked Back" Ritchie. Paris looks so...sweet. Wholesome. Cute. Well-coiffed. Nicely shod. I can't even see her vagina.

If this keeps up, I'm going to be out of a job.

Today, the role of Strung Out Barbie will be played by Paris Hilton.