WE WILL ALWAYS HAVE PARIS...UNFORTUNATELY
Every day headlines from every newspaper seem to scream the same tired, but
timeless message: the breakdown of american society, and society as a
whole, is imminent. Not only are people treating each other, and
themselves with criminal disregard and hostility, but we as a people seem
to have grown indifferent to this.
The irony that the over saturation of these horrible things in the media is
one of the prime reason for this is never given consideration.
Despite all of the doomsday scenarios, from global warming, hurricanes,
natural disasters, religious strife, intolerance, bigotry, genocide,
murder, muggings, shootings, stabbings, bombings, ethnic cleansing,
oppression, meteor strikes, pollution, alien abductions, the one thing that
disturbs me the most.
Paris Hilton.
The world is always in a state of flux. Always has been. Always will be.
Long before anything gained enough sentience to realize what it was doing,
or the neurotic touchstone of self awareness, the unanswerable "why", one
thing lived by taking nourishment from another living thing. People will
never be nice to each other. Its too hard. Especially when there is fear
in their hearts.
Yet despite all this, there is a little shred of hope. That somewhere in
the clash and fray of all these different ideas, ideals, and insurmountable
odds, progress, in some form, is being made SOMEWHERE.
That the human spirit still throbs, even if to hostile rhythms.
Then you see another story about Paris Hilton.
Another sex tape. Paris loses an ear ring at the day time Emmys.
Paris had a bad dream. Broke a fingernail. Got too many onions on her Big
Mac.
Had a pimple on her ass.
She stares out, through truly soulless eyes, from a face cast long since
birth from the most condescending clay, into a world her unearned,
undeserved wealth isolates herself from fully, and we do not run her out
of town on a pole.
In no small order she is truly the golden calf, a false idol for the
sickest and most depraved of societies.
Cult of personality is always a troublesome thing to witness. It shows a
people reduced to a mindless, collective mass, always ready to be molded,
redirected, set angrily lose like agitated army ants, like a fire, a
scourge, a flood. Under the guise of utilitarianism they will grind down
and trample anything and all that doesnt succumb to the lowest common
denominator.
But at least when it is for a dictator, even one of the vilest intentions,
there is a form of logic behind it. This person will finally stick up for
me, will complete my life through iron and fire and blood.
With Hilton?
We celebrate the most troubling of criterias: nothing.
It is a 21st century conspicuous consumption nihilism most foul.
She is famous for........being famous.
She has no talent. No skills. No ideas.
She isn't even attractive. Her body looks like lengths of oiled leather
drawn taught over a scarecrow. Pigflesh stretched out, adorned with
overpriced fabrics, bleached blond and let lose to spread its disease
unchecked. The sickness that tells young girls that they aren't pretty
unless they are tanned, have not an ounce of fat, and have their ribcages
jutting out of their jaundiced flesh. That substance isn't just secondary
to style, its something that should be mocked and ridiculed.
A backlash is in order. And quickly.
These things happen now and then, like influenza outbreaks that erupt every
twenty years or so, wreck havoc, and then are gone once again.
Because Paris, honey, you are freakin Zsa Zsa gabor. Without the class.
The Simple Life is just a "reality" based Green Acres. Your handlers knew
this, and are milking you like the cow you are.
So the answer to your problem is quite simple: die.
Die, Paris.
Just...stop living.
Its not that bad. In fact its the next logical step in your career.
Iconization.
Think of it. Do you think any of these tragically hip college kids running
around with Che Guevara t-shirts know anything at all about the man? How
he asked the Soviet Union to launch a nuclear strike against the US to
ensure they didn't invade Cuba or all the assassinations her oversaw? Of
course not. Because its the image, sweetie. The less you know of
something pretty the more mystery it has, the more you can throw any and
all of your hopes and dreams on it, without that pesky reality sh!t
harshing your buzz.
Die.
In a generations time poor crippled children, the blind, diseased, maimed
and lame will light candles to your image, the patron saint of the big, fat
zero.
Die.
Before you cause every dispossessed person the world over to rise, en masse,
and destroy the heartless soul of capitalism and the privileged classes and
install something even more savage.
Die.
Eddie Guerrero, after making an inspirational comeback from depression and
substance abuse, mending his life and family, died recently from a heart
attack while brushing his teeth. And still you strut around sucking up air
and taking up space.
Die. At least you will be immortal as a t-shirt and academics trying to
make a name for themselves will cite you as a trend setter, a modern day
Edie Sedgewick.
Die.
And don't even leave a corpse.
It will only poison the water supply, and leave the earth too tainted for even
fertilizer.
timeless message: the breakdown of american society, and society as a
whole, is imminent. Not only are people treating each other, and
themselves with criminal disregard and hostility, but we as a people seem
to have grown indifferent to this.
The irony that the over saturation of these horrible things in the media is
one of the prime reason for this is never given consideration.
Despite all of the doomsday scenarios, from global warming, hurricanes,
natural disasters, religious strife, intolerance, bigotry, genocide,
murder, muggings, shootings, stabbings, bombings, ethnic cleansing,
oppression, meteor strikes, pollution, alien abductions, the one thing that
disturbs me the most.
Paris Hilton.
The world is always in a state of flux. Always has been. Always will be.
Long before anything gained enough sentience to realize what it was doing,
or the neurotic touchstone of self awareness, the unanswerable "why", one
thing lived by taking nourishment from another living thing. People will
never be nice to each other. Its too hard. Especially when there is fear
in their hearts.
Yet despite all this, there is a little shred of hope. That somewhere in
the clash and fray of all these different ideas, ideals, and insurmountable
odds, progress, in some form, is being made SOMEWHERE.
That the human spirit still throbs, even if to hostile rhythms.
Then you see another story about Paris Hilton.
Another sex tape. Paris loses an ear ring at the day time Emmys.
Paris had a bad dream. Broke a fingernail. Got too many onions on her Big
Mac.
Had a pimple on her ass.
She stares out, through truly soulless eyes, from a face cast long since
birth from the most condescending clay, into a world her unearned,
undeserved wealth isolates herself from fully, and we do not run her out
of town on a pole.
In no small order she is truly the golden calf, a false idol for the
sickest and most depraved of societies.
Cult of personality is always a troublesome thing to witness. It shows a
people reduced to a mindless, collective mass, always ready to be molded,
redirected, set angrily lose like agitated army ants, like a fire, a
scourge, a flood. Under the guise of utilitarianism they will grind down
and trample anything and all that doesnt succumb to the lowest common
denominator.
But at least when it is for a dictator, even one of the vilest intentions,
there is a form of logic behind it. This person will finally stick up for
me, will complete my life through iron and fire and blood.
With Hilton?
We celebrate the most troubling of criterias: nothing.
It is a 21st century conspicuous consumption nihilism most foul.
She is famous for........being famous.
She has no talent. No skills. No ideas.
She isn't even attractive. Her body looks like lengths of oiled leather
drawn taught over a scarecrow. Pigflesh stretched out, adorned with
overpriced fabrics, bleached blond and let lose to spread its disease
unchecked. The sickness that tells young girls that they aren't pretty
unless they are tanned, have not an ounce of fat, and have their ribcages
jutting out of their jaundiced flesh. That substance isn't just secondary
to style, its something that should be mocked and ridiculed.
A backlash is in order. And quickly.
These things happen now and then, like influenza outbreaks that erupt every
twenty years or so, wreck havoc, and then are gone once again.
Because Paris, honey, you are freakin Zsa Zsa gabor. Without the class.
The Simple Life is just a "reality" based Green Acres. Your handlers knew
this, and are milking you like the cow you are.
So the answer to your problem is quite simple: die.
Die, Paris.
Just...stop living.
Its not that bad. In fact its the next logical step in your career.
Iconization.
Think of it. Do you think any of these tragically hip college kids running
around with Che Guevara t-shirts know anything at all about the man? How
he asked the Soviet Union to launch a nuclear strike against the US to
ensure they didn't invade Cuba or all the assassinations her oversaw? Of
course not. Because its the image, sweetie. The less you know of
something pretty the more mystery it has, the more you can throw any and
all of your hopes and dreams on it, without that pesky reality sh!t
harshing your buzz.
Die.
In a generations time poor crippled children, the blind, diseased, maimed
and lame will light candles to your image, the patron saint of the big, fat
zero.
Die.
Before you cause every dispossessed person the world over to rise, en masse,
and destroy the heartless soul of capitalism and the privileged classes and
install something even more savage.
Die.
Eddie Guerrero, after making an inspirational comeback from depression and
substance abuse, mending his life and family, died recently from a heart
attack while brushing his teeth. And still you strut around sucking up air
and taking up space.
Die. At least you will be immortal as a t-shirt and academics trying to
make a name for themselves will cite you as a trend setter, a modern day
Edie Sedgewick.
Die.
And don't even leave a corpse.
It will only poison the water supply, and leave the earth too tainted for even
fertilizer.