Rant the size of Texas

I went to Border's on Saturday night to indulge myself in bibliophilia after a really evil day. I had attended the wedding of a good friend and a former best friend, and I was drained from trying to support the good friend while completely avoiding the ex-best friend. So with the money that I made from selling stuff at the Gardner's Market, I decided to buy myself a book (this one).

While there, I ran into some friends of mine, and we frolicked through the store picking up random books. One in particular caught our eyes. Confessions of an Heiress by Paris Hilton. The bright pink cover, with said Heiress sprawled on it was quite eye-catching, and we decided to have a laugh at good 'ol Paris' expense, so we took it to the cafe and sat down to pick it apart. Inside were an extraordinary amount of photos, some bordering on pornography, of Paris in her numerous skin-barring clothing catastrophes. Most of them brought to mind the phrase "I've seen more cotton in an Asprin bottle!". Interspersed between the colorful monstrosities, were maybe 10 pages (in a book of 192 pages) of text that read more like the diary of a sexually-active 12 year old than a 23 year old who will eventually inherit the Hilton empire. Little pearls of wisdom like "The subway smells like pee. Someone should do something about that.", were jaw-dropping. Maybe this magical "someone" who follows us around fixing everything should send Paris a text message on her multiple cell phones reminding her that the reason the subway smells like pee is because there are homeless people living there who don't have access to the same resources that she has.

This "book" was humorous in a morbid, sort of society-down-the-crapper kind of way, but mostly just vapid. But what can we really expect from someone who spends incalculable monetary sums on clothing, but who's goal in life is to "be more important than [her] clothes."