Yet Another Reason To Hate Paris Hilton

Wrote this on January 21, 2006 when I worked at a grocery store. Enjoy!

Reading that title, this may seem like just about the easiest story to write EVER. I mean where does a person begin? The soulless, vacant personality? The marketing of her body as an object? Getting famous because she frequents clubs and wears clothing that people in third world countries would throw away? The fact that her face reminds me way too much of a diseased canary? There are too many to list. The fact that I am writing about Paris Hilton angers me, because in all actuality I should have absolutely no idea who she is. Yet it's for that reason that she remains an object of morbid fascination for me, like a kitten playing inside an unplugged blender.

I'm not writing this because I loathe Paris Hilton, anyone that has half a brain should loathe Paris Hilton. I'm writing this because I have a special reason for hating her, and I think you should make it one of your many, many reasons as well. My reason can be summed up in two words: Canine Accessory. This waste of carbon has made it FASHIONABLE to carry around tiny, yappy, three pound dogs as something to go with your ridiculously large sunglasses. You would think that such a thing shouldn't bother me too much here in Missoula, Montana. Surely such a trend exists only in concentrated areas of mindless conformity, large malls and places where the music you dance to doesn't come out of a jukebox? Well apparently stupidity knows no bounds.

As I was walking through the grocery store I work at today, a woman walked past me, wearing sunglasses the size of Rhode Island at 8:30pm, and cradling a tiny dog under her arm. The thing was shivering, whether with cold or shame I really couldn't tell you. It had on a little hat that matched the one she had on, a sporty little beanie with the word "Hot" emblazoned on the front. She was talking loudly on her cell phone, chattering animatedly over the exciting news that "Ashley is going to be there and that girl is such a....no, really she's a......Candice, I mean it, that girl is a.....for real, though, she is such a..." Everytime she came close to saying what Ashley was she would get interrupted! It was driving me insane, I wanted to shout: "A syphilis ridden sea cow? A pimple on the back of humanity? What is Ashley, tell me, TELL ME!" The thing that struck me most however was how much I disliked this girl without ever having said a word to her. For all I know she might be a brilliant, fascinating woman with ideas that could change the world. Yet when someone dresses their dog up to look like them, and the two have about the same amount of fabric on their bodies, I tend to throw a rather hasty label on them. Dogs are not meant to be worn like a watch. They shouldn't be cradled like a purse, tucked under the arm like a newspaper or thrown like a frisbee. It's one of the many facts that go under the heading "common sense", a subject that I am quickly beginning to realize needs to be taught in our schools.

I was shaking my head with annoyance and frustration at the world when I saw something that I think would have made Ashley the Sea Cow's day. As I went out into the swirling snow to retrieve some shopping carts, I saw her come out of the store, closing her phone as she dug for her keys. Suddenly she was shrieking loudly as she opened the car door, dropping the dog and raising her arms in disgust as the dog scrambled into the back seat. A large, ugly stain was spreading on her designer shirt, darkening the material and sending an odor into this pretentious strumpet's face that made her nose go higher than any rhinoplasty could ever take it. Surprisingly, I managed to walk back inside without laughing, even managed to get about ten feet into the building before my ridiculous guffawing startled an elderly couple.

Maybe you've done the world a favor, Paris Hilton. Perhaps now all of the vapid people in our increasingly frightening society will be easily spotted in a crowd, singled out and immediately ostracized thanks to the unmistakable splash of dog urine soaking slowly in to a $300 blouse.