Paris Hilton has hurt me again. No, she didn't give me herpes (not yet, anyway. I imagine her particular strain can be contacted by touching clothes she once looked at). She actively and often makes my very bone marrow hurt with her stupidity, vapidity, and hooker sensibilities. This time, I feel I should take her to court for mental distress.

Her exact words, as seen in US Weekly*:

"There's nobody in the world like me. I think every decade has an iconic blonde including Marilyn Monroe or Princess Diana and right now I'm that icon."

what.

I feel my blood pressure rising. My very blood cells are jumping beans of lividity.

First of all, every decade? Blondes don't even exist in the wild before 1920. Queen Elizabeth was a well documented redhead, Cleopatra a brunette. Mary Pickford, perhaps the first movie star, had brown hair. So the whole "blonde icon" thing doesn't hold much water. Let us assume she means every generation she can remember exists. I'm sure she thinks Hilton Hotels came into existence along with the rest of the universe in a Big Bang that took place sometime in 1946.

Secondly, Marilyn was a shrewd business woman who knew EXACTLY who to sleep with. A multi faceted and troubled creature in possession of a melancholy, beauty and sex appeal not seen before or since. Princess Diana was an icon of stature and poise, certainly known more for her philanthropy and class than her hair color. Both women were sadly and tragically taken well before their time was up.

Paris is an ugly cum-guzzling whore who should have, by all means, died in a snuff film at age 14.

Furthermore, whose icon does this bitch really think she is? She hangs out with Trust-Fund-Baby Douchebags and the kinds of girls that drink champagne directly out the bottle while falling off a table in a trendy nightclub. Flashes of blonde actresses and singers infinitely more talented, likable and for God's Sake BETTER LOOKING than ol' Herp here come to mind in an instant. Gwen Stefani, Reese Witherspoon, Rachel McAdams, fuck, even Ashlee Simpson has emerged from the cocoon of her old nose to become smoking hot. Sean Preston Spears Federline is more of an iconic blonde that this...this....thing undoubetly mad with syphilis.

"Nobody in the world like me". Oh yeah? You, you cunt, did a TV show with a girl whose only difference from your stick insect visage was her extra layer of heroin induced fat. THAT'S hot.

What could possibly make her..no..IT..what could make IT think it's an icon?? The fact that she is, perhaps, blonde? Well, we all saw the tape. I suppose her hair color is true enough, but it's that word. "Icon". It drives me up the wall. It is thrown around entirely too much.
Webster's defines Icon as "An important and enduring symbol, an idol."

Madonna, I will reluctantly admit, is an icon. Bob Dylan, Kurt Cobain, Bono, aforementioned Marilyn. All represented their decades and generations through art or style. Watermarks of the height of their particular movements, be it grunge or rockstar philanthropy**.

Could Paris be implying that she is indicative of us all? We are all, here on this particular nook of Myspace, born in the early 80s. The children of Care Bears, Thundercats, Oklahoma City and the first WTC bombing. Could the future generations look back on us and Mademoiselle Hilton with the same eyes through which we see Kurt C and Generation X? Were they truly a pack of flannel shirted mix tape making slackers with dirty hair and babies made out of wedlock? Are we nothing more than a gaggle of blank eyed slaves to fashion and reality TV with ridiculous cars and an over abundance of jewelry?

Um.

Yes.

Bitch has never been more right in her wicked life. How's THAT for an enduring symbol.

Horrifying, isn't it?

* Hey, I was at the beach with my sister and forgot my New York Times Book Review, ok?

** And that, my pretties, is a blog for another time.