Don't feel bad if you're a terrible person, you'll never be the worst, at least until Paris Hilton dies.

A few weeks ago, I was ambling through South Beach with the crazy people who live with me (this is otherwise known as a "family vacation"), when I saw none other than Paris Hilton herself on the beach, surrounded by cameras that she probably paid for (with her father's money, of course) and wearing high heels ("stilettos", in particular, according to my mother.)

Now, as she was posing and tripping over herself in a most trashy manner due to the oh-so practical combination of sand and high heels, I nearly keeled over and projectile vomited. It's a shame I didn't though, because I would have run over to her and tossed my cookies all over her stupid fake persona.

This is because Paris Hilton is a joke. She is famous for one reason: Hilton hotels. She's all over TV and pop culture all the time, and she's always being a gargantuan piece of trash. (Apparently she's even tried making music. I'm sure that was a huge success amongst girls aged thirteen to thirteen and a half.) It's like just because her ancestors were smart business executives, or whatever makes you what is probably the most successful hotel chain on earth, she gets leeway to be a repulsive whore whose IQ is less than that of a mentally challenged sloth.

Well, I have news for you, Paris, if you ever happen to read this, which I hope more than anything in the world you do: it doesn't. Fuck you. Go do something productive, not reproductive, you obnoxious skank. Go read a book, if you know how. If I were a Hilton, I would be apologizing everywhere I went for this shit stain on Earth's panties who I happened to be helplessly related to, and probably shooting for the Nobel Peace Prize to try and compensate for this dim-witted gaping vagina of a human being, but not even that would begin to suffice.

Paris Hilton, please do the world a favor and jump off a cliff. Make sure you take your "stilettos" along for the ride.