Paris, Spare Us

In 2007 as in 1945 a shout of exultation rises from an exhausted populace: “Paris is free!”  A new Paris, toughened by the rigors of a prison regimen, her jaw set in a determined moue, strides boldly into the public square to face whatever comes: “Have gum, will travel.”  We are witnesses to a moment in history.

We hate to make jest of Paris Sheraton or La Quinta or Hyatt, whatever her name is, especially in light of her secret medical condition.  Her peace of mind should be our paramount concern.  She told Larry King that “this is a crossroads in my life and a crossroads, usually brought about by adversity, must be judged by what comes after”.  She added, reading from a note ostensibly composed by her in the hoosegow: “This is a process, a gift and a journey.”  Bible reading has become a prime feature in her life, she offers, although when asked she cannot think of a favorite passage.
We applaud her for moving away from the spirits and toward the spirit.  For her drive to improve her life under the influence of the bibulous, or do I mean the biblical?  Nice to hear Paris won’t be plastered at the cast party anymore.  We will back her to hilt on her plans, give her room to attend whatever service she prefers.  All we ask in return is an elemental consideration.  Please… please… do not turn into a serious celebrity.
Of all the grim fates that could befall us as a nation, this is the grimmest yet.  Imagine Paris Hilton testifying before Congress on behalf of the caribou in Alaska, against the oil companies. ‘ The poor sweeties like it chilly and those nasty pipe thingies with the oil are like totally turning them into toast.  And then we won’t have caribou sweaters.’ 
Senator Brownback: Are there caribou sweaters?

Paris Hilton: Handbags, then.

SB: Are you aware that closing the Alaska Pipeline would cost this country a trillion dollars and put our security at risk by increasing the oil monopoly of Middle East dictatorships?

PH: Ooh, are you one of those Republicans?  You know, I looked up Republican in the dictionary and I found it between reptile and repulsive.

(Senator Kennedy laughs hysterically.)

SB: You stole that line from Julia Roberts.  I saw her deliver that on TV, on Bill Maher’s show.
PH: Well, duh!  Why not?  And her kids are so cute.
SB:  So are you a Democrat?  I looked that up in the dictionary and found it between demented and demonic.
PH: Ick, Teddy, is he allowed to say that to me?
SENATOR KENNEDY: Er, honey, here you need to address me as Senator.

That may be nothing compared to her turning up the heat on global warming.  She has already made a move to shrink her carbon footprint by trading in her schnauzer for a Chihuahua.  If she comes out behind a law forcing paparazzi to change their flashbulbs from incandescent to fluorescent, even a Republican like Mel Gibson will be constrained to jump on the bandwagon.  The potential for mischief here is endless.  Life in this country as we know it may be lost forever.  Look how much trouble Minnesota is in from years of domination by blondes.            

Another area she could really throw a monkey-wrench into is the subject of the right-to-die.  All she needs to hear is that “youth in Asia’ is an issue and before you know it she will be adopting Cambodian children with Angelina Jolie.  I doubt she will enjoy being Little Orphan Nanny for very long, and then we will be treated to another baby custody case with crying judges.  This is all too much to bear.            

So we have a suggestion that should be amenable to all parties.  Let her officially announce one cause a year, say leukemia one year and birth defects another, and we will all commit to paying ten bucks apiece of blackmail money in return for her shutting up in public.  Then she can devote her time to socializing with her sister, Nicky, her friend Nicole “Nicky” Richie, and her boyfriend Stavros “Nicky” Niarchos.  At ten bucks an American we can raise a hundred and twenty million from illegal immigrants alone.  Here is a classic win-win for all parties.            

Welcome back, Paris, we missed you.  You represent our uniquely American postmodern tacky pseudo-decadence.  Mi hotelero es su hotelero.  We’ll leave the light on for ya.