Dear Paris,

by Wells

I know it’s been weeks since I’ve written, but I’ve been so busy recently. Don’t worry, we’re all still out here supporting you and praying for your quick recovery.

So, how’s rehab? Is the methadone helping? The doctors tell me that your violent shaking is stopping for several minutes a day now. That’s so awesome! We’re all so happy for you! You’ll beat this speedball addiction. Just take it one day at a time.

So much has been going on since I last sent a letter. I know they don’t let you watch TV, but there’s some stuff you have to know. Let’s see, Stavros is dating Mary-Kate again. Leo is dating that whore Zeta Graff. Nicky is dating Edward Furlong.

Oh, poor Nicky. Representatives from the Kaballah Center came by to repossess your red bracelet the other day. When I tried to explain that you’re in rehab and the bracelet went with you, they broke Nicky’s thumbs. She can barely lift a Red Bull. It’s sad, really.

Oh my God! You probably haven’t heard what happened to Nicole Ritchie yet. I hope you’re sitting down next to some Kleenex as your read these words. There’s no nice way to say this, so I’ll just say it. Nicole drowned in an accident involving bobbing for novelty dildos from a bucket of Pabst Blue Ribbon. I wasn’t there, but the story is in all the papers. The Enquirer got a picture from Frankie Muniz’s cell phone camera.

Oh, that reminds me. Your cell phone contact list got hacked again. Now everyone at the Enquirer knows that all the friends you have left are Bobby “The Brain” Heenan and Jonathan Taylor Thomas. And, of course, you have me. They may have also found a picture of David Blaine finger-violating your chihuahua, Tinkerbell.

I’m afraid your current condition is not boding well for the Paris Hilton brand. Your debut album “Paris is Burning” failed to make a splash on the Billboard charts. Number one on the week it came out was “Brownish Haze”, which is a compilation of Snoop Dogg farting into various tape recorders. Oh, Snoop says hi, but he told me to spell it “h-i-g-h.” He’s so crazy.

And Eminem says hi too, kinda. He put a few lines about you in his latest single:

Paris Hilton turned herself in with a needle in her arm
Now they got her on methadone all morning drooling in her Lucky Charms
She probably waking up to an orderly’s dick every day before she even hear the alarm
Dumb trick
I’m Eminem!

He sang it at Ashlee’s concert. Ashlee’s still in the hospital, by the way. She tried staging a benefit to raise awareness and sympathy for your recovery from addiction, but the “background” CD skipped during the second song and she was trampled by a stampede of rabidly angry preteen girls.

We’ve all been pulling real hard for you. We auctioned off the casts from your horseback riding accident on the set of Simple Life. I think we raised enough to pay the paralegal fees for your crippling slander lawsuit. I hope it’s enough. Your “estate” is sort of falling apart since your family disowned your sister and you. Sales of “That’s Hot” tee shirts never quite caught on like we hoped they would. America’s too busy being swept away by a new catch phrase from Paula Abdul: “I wish my butt cheeks had a skin bridge connecting them.” I’m so sick of hearing people say that!

Oh, and Carl’s Jr. found a new spokesmodel to soap herself up while washing a car and take a big bite out of one of their burgers. It’s Starr Jones. She told the press she doesn’t care if you drown in a puddle of your own sick.

I wish I had better news to bring you now in your time of need, but life is hard outside of rehab, too. I bought a Nutty Buddy the other day and half the top didn’t even have walnut chunks on it. Just chocolate and ice cream! I cried for ten whole minutes.

I’m sure by now you’ve lost the ability to see straight and may have even vomited bile all over this letter, so I’m going to get going. You hang in there! Only four more months strapped to the bed and then they’ll let you walk through the courtyard once a day!

I have always loved you.


The Guy Who Played Chunk in Goonies