Paris & Nicky Hilton

Never let it be said that Paris Hilton is not resourceful:

Why, she made this entire dress herself, out of tin foil!

Dear Diary,

So, remember that time I told Man-Paris that he was like a dead fish in the sack? [I think it was Man-Paris... or was it Nick Carter? Or Aaron Carter? Or Stabby Nachos? Or Travis Barker? Or Britney Spears? Or Andy Roddick? Or that other dude I was engaged to that time? Or was it the guy I met at the thing, with the stuff?... No, I think it was Man-Paris.] And he was all, "Oh yeah, well you're about as smart as one," and I was all, "Duh, brains make you FAT, they are ALL CARBS," and he goes, "Oh my God, you aren't even making any sense," and I go, "Sense gives you ACNE," and he threw a wastebasket at me and told me to crawl back into it where I belong, and I was all, "Well at least I don't have a failed solo career after my lame boy band broke up," and he was like, "Holy shit, Paris, that's your ex boyfriend -- do you even remember my name?" And I was all, "Duh, Nick, I'm not that stupid, it's not like 'Nick' is that hard to remember," and then he told me to go do something dirty to the Eiffel Tower and I was like, "OH  YEAH? MAYBE I WILL," and he was all, "Yeah, it's Paris-on-Paris," and then I totally looked at him and was all, "Dude, you're looking totally fine all of a sudden," and then we had sex? And he was like a dead fish in the sack so I told him so again? And he was like, "How would you know, anyway?"

Well... not that Nick Man-Paris will ever read this, but let's just say that I KNOW.

Heeee! But I really shouldn't say anything more, Diary. It's tough when you're dating a new guy and he sees his name in the press. So, toodles! I have to go buy more makeup. I used up all the eyeshadow I own on this one day in Sydney -- it's totally 2007 to paint yourself two black eyes and I want to be the first.

Kisses!

P

Dear Diary,

So, I totally have a new friend to tell you about today! It didn't really work out with Nicole when she was blonde (and between you and me, Diary, she is even less fun with the brown hair -- I mean, what's the point of having dark hair if you aren't hiding weed underneath it?), and, like, oh my GOD, dude, Kimberly Stewart was really NEEDY. She called me ten times a day until I made her cry that last time, and I SWEAR I caught her rooting through my bathroom trashcan, picking out my old extensions and taping them to a hair clip. Which, EW -- it looked EXACTLY like a hair clip from a drugstore, and not the FUN kind of drugstore, so GROSS.

Anyway, so I found this new blonde person now and I think it's going to work out because even though she kind of already worships me, she attracts WAY better photographers than Kimberly did. And, she's going through a totally rough time right now because she's getting a divorce, so she wants to party and dress up and stuff and get really dirty and freaky, which is my FAVORITE THING EVER to do. Like, this one time, I put on my favorite red party dress of that week, and she got out this old thing she used to wear when she and her husband played that weird Ice Dancing game where they were at the porn Olympics, and we decided to go out and party. And it was, like, TOTAL sisterhood, you know? And it was SO SWEET because we were really cold, and she remembered that her ex-husband had a bunch of old pieces of panty-hose in his drawer from the olden days when he would stick his head in them and then throw over a 7-11 (she used that word -- "throw over" -- I don't really know what that word means but it is so Law & Order I can't even STAND IT and I think I'm so good now at saying the word that I should probably order up a part on one of the episodes, right? Do you think they deliver?). But anyway, so we had these pieces of panty-hose but there were only two, so we each wore one -- me on my right leg, and her on her left leg, which I swore was her right leg, but she kept telling me it was her left and that she would know what her own left leg looks like since she was BORN with it, DUH, and you know what? I don't know what her left leg looks like, and maybe it looks like it's on the right -- there ARE people who are born that way, I'm pretty sure, and if she's one of them, then maybe we should start some sort of charitable manicure program that benefits the Righty Left Children or whatever. It's a good idea.

Anyway, it was soooo fun -- she's like the sister I never had! Sometimes we sit up all night and drink vodka from baby bottles and talk about boys and divorces and our music careers -- apparently, she had some albums and shit, but I don't REMEMBER Pamela Anderson having a record or anything, do you? But she got all mad and screamed that she did too have more hit songs than I did, and she didn't seem to like it when I called her out and said I'd never heard of any of her songs and that she would need to PROVE it. In fact, she ALSO didn't really like it that much when I called her Pamela, but dude, I KNOW Pamela Anderson when I see her -- like, those things are KIND OF hard to MISS, you know? They're bigger than Nicky's head! So anyway I told Pamela to shut up and finish her Zima and she kind of got upset again but then once she was done chugging it and then shotgunning her Bud Light (she said her mom calls it a Trailer Martini -- how kicky and retro! Also, does Pamela Anderson HAVE a mom? Wicked!) and then everything was fine again.

Can't wait to see sister Pammy tomorrow! We're gonna get tattoos that say P&P Music Factory (even if she IS lying about having all those albums) and it's going to RULE. I talked her into it after the third bottle of Jagermeister. She said it would be even better because Kevin would hate it ("Kevin" is how you say "Kid Rock" in Michigan speak -- they are so funny up there!). Whee! Paris and Pammy!

Sloppy kisses,

P

When it comes to Paris Hilton, I prefer not to think of her actually coming from anyone. As far as I'm concerned, she spontaneously generated on a rainy spring day from a pile of fertilizer rife with dung beetles.

But I suppose there are documents that claim otherwise, and so it is that we've come to refer to Kathy Hilton as Paris's mother. And I'm realizing that if we are forced to admit Paris Hilton is a DNA creation, it does make some genetic sense -- the rotten apple doesn't actually plop in a pile of moldy pulp terribly far from the tree.

The outfit itself doesn't tickle my fancy, particularly, but it's fine. [Except for that crinkled skirt; her poor chauffeur is so fired for not having wrinkle-proof upholstery on his seats.] But the shoes are totally ridiculous. They're quasi-spats; the ankle cuff is totally perplexing -- it's as if she wasn't initially planning to carry a purse, and so needed a creative new way to carry Kleenex on her person for any nostril emergencies that might arise. To which I say, "That's what bras are for, lady."

And there's just so much RIGGING on them. Look, a word to the wise, Kath -- some more Chicken Soup for the Fugging Soul, if you will: If they look like they belong affixed to Paris's Portuguese sex swing, or if indeed that's exactly where you found them, do not remove them from their squallid home; instead, step away from the kegel-pilates apparatus area without touching anything and go bathe your hands in lye just in case.

When you think Paris Vogue, what do you think? Class? Elegance? Cutting-edge fashion? Quintessential French chic?

Or underboob?

Sure, maybe the underboob of a chic French model smoking a Gauloise in her underpants and, like, really expensive and avant-garde, de-constructed heels.  Or Vanessa Paradis's underboob, as shot by Johnny Depp with a Polaroid or something. But Paris Hilton's underboob? Honey, show us something we haven't seen before.

Los Angeles, recently:

PARIS: Dude, I'm so happy we're friends again.

NICOLE: Me too.

PARIS: You make me look so tall and healthy.

NICOLE: You make me feel so small and delicate.  And smart. I enjoy that.

PARIS:  I'm just glad we're over that thing that happened.

NICOLE: Me too.  Our friendship is more important.

PARIS:  I know. I mean, bros before hos, right? I seriously never would have hooked up with him if I knew you really liked him.

NICOLE: What?

PARIS: Stabby. If I'd known you were THAT into him, I never would have stolen him from you.

NICOLE: Huh?

PARIS:  STABBY. STABBY NACHOS.

NICOLE: Who is Stabby Nachos?

PARIS: You know, tall? Greek? Your boyfriend?

NICOLE: Stavros Niarchos?

PARIS: That is what I SAID. STABBY NACHOS.

NICOLE:  He's not my boyfriend.

PARIS: He was until I stole him from you.

NICOLE: What?

PARIS: Or was that your sister?

NICOLE: I don't HAVE a sister. YOU have a sister.

PARIS: We both have sisters, dumbass.  We're both the skinny sister!  Woo! Remember?

NICOLE: Paris. I don't have a sister.

PARIS: Um, did they  give you electroshock therapy when you were in that eating disorder thingie? You totally have a sister. You guys were on that TV show forever, like when you were little kids? Remember? You guys are twins, or something.

NICOLE: Paris, that's Mary-Kate Olsen.

PARIS: YOU'RE Mary-Kate Olsen.

NICOLE: NO, I'M NOT.

PARIS:...are you sure?

NICOLE: YEAH.

PARIS: Really? Because I think you're wrong. You look just like her. Do you have your driver's license with you? Because I don't think I believe you.

NICOLE: I'M NOT MARY-KATE OLSEN.

PARIS: Then who the hell are you?

NICOLE: It's NICOLE.

PARIS: Richie?

NICOLE: YEAH.

PARIS: Oh.

NICOLE: YEAH.

PARIS: Um. So, this is awkward.

NICOLE: YEAH.

PARIS: I guess the friends thing is off again, then.

NICOLE: You know what you did.

Sometimes, Paris Hilton dresses really well for long stretches of time -- say what you want about her, and we've certainly said plenty, but she has a great figure for clothes, and a lot of the time she drapes it relatively adeptly.

And then she goes on stretches of crazy.

Here, all narrowed eyes and headband and pleated skirt, she's ripped straight out of Cruel Intentions 4: Climb Every Valmontain, in which the main characters are, like, third cousins of the originals, and Paris is of course the Queen Bee, who conducts interpretive-dance orgies (hence the legwarmers) that lead to your typical high-school scandal and sexual politics. Look for it in the $4.99 DVD aisle at your favorite local Target.

Dear Diary,

You know how you, like, always try to think of a really funny thing to say in the moment, and sometimes you can't figure out what it is until way later? Like, when I saw Lindsay Lohan making out with that Stabby Nachos guy I stole from Mary-Kate? (Oh, don't look at me that way, Diary -- she didn't need him right that second.) At the time I just walked over and stepped on Lindsay's foot and then glared at her really hard, but I realized, like, two weeks later that the perfect thing to say was, "Dude. Like, get a room. At a Motel. AND BRANDON DAVIS STILL HATES YOU." HAHAHA! I mean, right? Then nobody could say I am not awesome and smart and clever.

Anyway, so you know what is awesome? My new shirt, which is TOTALLY the perfect thing to say any time you can't think of a comeback as good as the motel thing.  Are you ready for this? It's so good I can't even STAND IT -- wait, hang on, I have to touch up my makeup real quick ... Okay, I'm good now. (Sorry, if I don't check my makeup every ten minutes I start to get wrinkles.)

Here is my shirt:

[Photos by X17 Online.]

That is WICKED HOTT TO DEATH, people! That is for everyone who lies and says they don't like my album. And to everyone who thinks they can, like, arrest me for just driving someplace, and then CHARGE me for driving, like it's my fault I hadn't had any food that night except for a martini.

But you know who ELSE it's good for?

When friends told Paris Hilton that if she came over, she'd be up to her knees in pure, white snow, none of them expected her to take that so very literally.

We all have favorite articles of clothing. I, for example, have a blue and white striped tee with the cutest little gathered neckline that I wear all the time.  Nicky Hilton appears to be obsessed with her black satin tank. (Is  she wearing it in homage to Chanel's sold-out Black Satin nail polish? If so, you should send us a bottle, Nicky! That is the price for our SILENCE. [Not really, we don't take bribes. (OR DO WE? [No. (Well, maybe. [No.])])])

We've dinged her for wearing it as early as January of this year. And again in April. And she's worn it THREE TIMES in the last couple of weeks. Behold: