I had a dream that Paris Hilton commented on my blog. Wow, the most talented person in Hollywood, reading my humble blog? Of all the wildest fantasies my subconscious chose to indulge.
First of all, I’m pretty sure Paris Hilton can’t read. Secondly, I’m doubly sure Paris Hilton can’t cook. Finally, I’m almost positive she can’t afford a computer (but maybe someone told her about the public library). So why would she even be reading my blog? The pretty pictures?
But, she was going on and on in the comment section, in uncharacteristically articulate fashion. Wish I could remember what she was saying. But, unfortunately, I was roused by screaming in the other room, and when I clawed my way back into bed for leftover dreams, Ms. Hilton had morphed into a bikini-clad circus bear on a unicycle who kept jabbing me with a hot poker every time I tried to sit down. I have no idea what that means.
Now, I’m not much for celebrity gossip, usually. It makes me insanely jealous just thinking about all of the delicious food that big-name celebrities get to eat, if only with their eyes. Needless to say, I’m not really up on who’s having whose love child, or what color hair Britney Spears has these days. So, I was pretty pissed that Paris Hilton even made it into my dream. The screening process is getting looser and looser, it seems.
Where’s Simon Cowell when you really need him?