I Think I Believe Paris Hilton's Alibi Now ...

I thought that I would only have to defend Paris Hilton just that one time. As a matter of fact, I swore to myself that it would only be that one time because I felt so dirty after having done it at all. I know it was right, but it still felt so very, very wrong, and not in the ways that usually so much fun.

As I may have mentioned before, I have a complicated relationship with Paris. I loathe that wonky fucking eye and everything about her personality suggests that she might be a reincarnated Nazi war criminal, maybe Streicher. She represents everything that's truly awful and repulsive about the human spirit.

But she's got a tight little body and looks really good naked. So, despite her well-known struggles with genital herpes, I'd fuck her. But only in the ass. Not for me any vaginal intercourse with a woman whose crotch looks like it was swarmed by bees. I'm much too classy for that. And I promise that I wouldn't enjoy it very much because of the principle involved. But hit it I assuredly would, mostly so I could recount the experience to you, as only I can. I think that my literary audience would expect nothing less.

I thought that I would be physically sick when I took Miss Hilton's side in the matter of her 2007 probation violation, but my love of the law and justice demanded nothing less. However, that doesn't mean that I enjoyed the experience.

That's why I've been silent about Paris' recent Las Vegas arrest for cocaine possession. I was secretly giggly that she was in the same jurisdiction, and possibly facing the same prosecutor and judge, that sent O.J Simpson up Shit Creek for a good long time.

Her alibi that that the purse that the purse that the happy powder was found in wasn't hers is frankly both ridiculous and irrelevant. Not only were her identification, credit cards and cash in there, she had repeatedly posted pictures of herself with the very same purse on Twitter. Once and for all, her arrogance and offensive stupidity would finally bring the silly slut low.

Or so I thought. You see, there's there's book coming out that suggests that Hilton has more ... creative ways of concealing her illicit substances.

We walked in, and she was naked. She was waiting for her next dress or whatever, but had already taken off her old dress. For the record, I’m a big fan of that move. She asked me if it was any trouble getting it, and I told her not really. I took out the Camel box and handed it to her, and she thanked me. We talked for a minute or two about the apparent difficulty of procuring those drugs in Europe. I asked if she was flying private, and she said, “No, commercial.” And then as politely as I could, I asked her how she planned on traveling with that amount of blow and X. She held the box in her right hand, and then with an underhand swoop like a lower case J, she demonstrated exactly how she intended to beat airport security. She even whistled as she did it. A little alley-oop with the Camel Box, straight up her snatch. Classic. Right after that they came in with her next outfit, and she put it on. She said we could stay for a while and watch, but we were tired, and our work there was done. We hugged, said our goodbyes, and my roommate and I went back to the car to go home. I don’t think we said five words to each other the entire car ride. I spoke to Joe a couple weeks later. He thanked me again for the favor and said it all arrived safe.

Not only is that sexy, it's damned practical, too! If you ever wondered why I used to hate being single so much, now you know. It's also why I could never be homosexual, or even just "bi-curious." On top of being the most gorgeous things I've ever seen, cooters are just too handy to give up on. While I've had my share of problems with their owners, having a snapping little vagina around means that I'll always know where my cigarette lighter is. Oh, and my drugs.

This is like one those mystery novels where at the key moment the main suspect stands up and declares "Aha! But I didn't commit the murder at all! Here's a picture of me in South America with a newspaper from the day of the crime! I bid you good day, sir."

I can't be the only one who sees the irony in someone as illiterate as Paris Hilton being vindicated by a book, can I? I also can't be the only one who loves the fact that she chose a Camel Box to shove up her camel box.

Y'know, it's stories like this that make me appreciate life more than I usually do.