Thursday, June 07, 2007

Paris Hilton Prison Diary

Update - Bumped to Top:

If California didn't exist, comedy writers would have to invent it:

Paris is sprung from jail due to a "medical condition" which apparently amounts to this: crying a lot, thus putting herself in danger of having a mental breakdown.

Sanity might prevail, as she has been ordered back into court Friday morning...



via The Los Angeles Times! Wow! LAT wrote something good! In my lifetime!

Wow wow!! Liberal American female journalist lives for 4 years in Saudi Arabia!! LAT publishes something else good! Is this the apocalypse?

The long gone, yet vastly enjoyed, Martha Stewart Prison Diaries. Excerpt, from the day after the Nov 2004 election, when exit polls had predicted a Kerry victory:

(continuation of Nov 2) ...the exit polls from C Block had me down 6 points early, but the internals were obviously for shit, and in the end I won Shower Queen going away. No surprise there.

Nov 3 Note: to disarm the shiv wielding coos who tries to steal your cornbread square, quickly parry her thrust AWAY from your body, then lock her elbow with your free hand while kicking DOWN on the knee and driving your palm up through the bridge of her nose....

Paris Hilton Prison Diaries excerpts:
Day 3: So that's what a bitch slap is.
Day 5: Gandhi went to prison. [...] Mandela was imprisoned for, like, 50 years or something for being black and also for driving an uninsured vehicle, if I'm reading Wikipedia correctly. Nicky often mentions me and Gandhi and how incredibly thin we both are and how she wonders if he used bronzer.
Day 14: Yeats writes that the falcon cannot hear the falconer. What the hell? Is the falcon listening to a, like, falcon iPod or something? Also, what if the falcon was deaf? Did the falconer ever think of that? Also why "gyre?" Why not just say "swirling vortex?"

Day 18: This "Jesus Christ" was an amazing guy. It's so sad he died so young.
Day ??: I have stopped counting the days. I live in the now.
Once, I wondered if I would have to wait in a chow line. Is there a way around the chow line, I wondered? A kind of "chow bouncer," a chow doorman I might smile at as I breeze past on my way to steamed broccoli and fried bologna? How funny to think back. Because there is a chow bouncer. And her name is Brick. And she hates me.
Lately I'm identifying with the Jews and all the horrible things that happened to them during Vietnam.

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