OK, I wasn't expecting to like this show. I wasn't expecting to even watch this show. In fact, I was hoping to lead a semi-cerebral evening of Sarah Palin-bashing and Huffington Post reading with a dash of Joshua Farris or Dostoevsky for good measure. Like a Russian mint on my bed pillow.
That didn't work out as planned. Damn me!
It must have been slim pickens at this casting call! These ass hats make Nicole Ritchie look like the reality TV-version of a Nobel Peace Prize winning Princess Diana!
Remember the low achieving, tacky, trash that sat with all the wannabes in the lunchroom (sorry if that was you!)? Not attractive enough to be popular, not smart enough to make the honor roll, yet not inherently unique enough to care they don't fall in either of those categories? It's as if Paris went into every high school in Middle America, marched right over to that lunch table, and plucked the ring leader and stuffed them into her limo.
It goes without saying that it's an absolutely horrific display to see rows and rows of them vying for a baby-voiced, pink-clad Paris's affection. It has a very slutty soriority sister, hazing the freshman kind of a feel.
(Ed. note I was taking bong hits in my dorm room with the shades drawn during most of college, so my idea of anything remotely Greek is what I've learned from movies like Legally Blonde)
I won't spend a lot of time exploring the complete lunacy of the premise. Paris Hilton's new BFF? Give me a freaking break. Whatever yee-ha won this is probably already back in the Florida Wal-Mart they came from, stocking the shelves, and ringing up the diapers and canned fruit.
I blog about Hollywood for several hours a day, and I truly enjoy peering at these freaks in their petri dishes from behind my safe, isolated microscope. (A pink-dipped Perez Hilton queened it up on this episode. It was almost too much to see him stuffed in a candy raver outfit, cackling like a soap-watching den mother.)
I quickly remembered why I am no fan of reality TV.
Thanks Paris.
