October 4, 2006

Paris Hilton, you’ve changed, baby.

Paris Hilton, you’ve changed, baby.
My Paris Hilton brought cupcakes to class on my birthday.
In the car to school when I dropped chocolate pudding
all over the seat, you told your driver that you did it,
that you broke the rules and that you were sorry.
This Paris Hilton gets arrested for driving her Saab drunk on one drink.

My Paris Hilton would be in a Jaguar, a Viper, or a Hummer.
She’d be in a doublewide Panzer with spinning rims
and a “Norris is my co-pilot” bumper sticker.
It’s not too late, Paris Hilton:
Take a Delorean and steal your old PowerWheels
from young Paris Hilton: “Young Paris, I’m grown-up Paris
and I’m taking your 4x4. You’re hot.
And remember: A true heiress is never mean to anyone—
except a girl who steals her boyfriend.”
This Paris Hilton leaves award shows with Jose Theodore,
an engaged, balding, hasbeen puck stopper.

My Paris Hilton wore pumps to play four square.
When I melted your She-ra doll you didn’t say a word.
You walked straight home and wouldn’t come out.
I had to break my Nerf slingshot
and all my He-Man toys while you watched
just to get you to play doctor again.
And I had to be the patient.
This Paris Hilton makes pedestrian porno at age 19.

My Paris Hilton said “Every woman should have four pets in her life:
a mink in her closet,
a jaguar in her garage,
a tiger in her bed,
and a jackass who pays for everything”
and you believed it.
This Paris Hilton calls herself the iconic blonde of the decade.
But my Paris really is.