A Final Solution, Paris Hilton's Prison Diary

June 26, 2007

My dearest diary,

My time in prison has reached it’s end, yet I find myself consumed by remorse rather than relief, for my last hours in the Correctional Institute For Naughty Ladies were marred by a set of exceptional circumstances which forced me to compromise the pious morality for which I am famed and betray friends most dear, all in the name of freedom.


It began when Bulldog Baker stepped up her campaign of intimidation. My nerves were already shattered from the stresses of keeping Donatella’s presence a secret, a task not helped by Daisy’s rampant stupidity. I lost count of the number of times she almost let slip the presence of our guest, and consequently, of the amount of times I was required to slap her across the face in an effort to beat some sense into the lass. Baker observed some of these beatings, and made comments of a lewd nature inspired by them, implying I was some sort of debased sexual deviant into all manner of violent kink. I will not repeat the fetishes she accused me of subscribing to, aside from noting that I was shocked to discover a human female was capable of doing the things she mentioned in a golf car with an ostrich, while upside-down. As she continued her lecherous spiel, she began rubbing her baton so vigourously as to leave it gleaming as though t’were brand new. After she clocked out on Sunday afternoon, she paused at my table in the food hall, where I was trying to enjoy a low-fat plain yoghurt while Daisy waffled on about Cold Mountain, winked lasciviously at me, and told me she looked forward to seeing me in my night-clothes the following evening, when she began a month on night-shift. I was filled with despair. I knew this woman intended to intrude upon my maidenhead with her shiny, ebon baton and cold, groping hands. I took to my bed and cried myself to sleep. But morning came, and with it, salvation.

You must recall how my friend Nicole Ritchie vanished in the scuffle that saw Donatella accidentily imprisoned. As the sun rose, I caught sight of something sliding into the cell from underneath the door. I dismissed it as a pamphlet or a newsletter, but realising the absurdity of this, got up to inspect the object. I was shocked to discover it was Nicole, squeezing her 24lb frame through the door. I helped her through, we embraced, and then she began tearfully telling me of the escapades she had endured to avoid detection in the prison, including repeatedly turning sideways and having to hide between the pages of a pornographic magazine. Nicole is a self-obsessed creature that never tires of discussing her own trivial trials and tribulations, and I interrupted her to explain the situation I found myself in, mere hours from being intimately introduced to a night-stick. Donatella and Daisy awoke, and together, the four of us formulated a bold escape plan.

Alas, it seems that the escape plan was lifted directly from a popular TV series called Prison Break, which I guess is what happens when you let three people with the combined mental abilities of a pomegranate concoct your scheme. Baker herself caught us in the act in the early hour of Tuesday morning. She reveled in the moment, and made it quite clear that the only way we were getting back to our cells was if I submitted myself to a thorough cavity search. With freedom so close, yet so far, and the prospect of having my body defiled so, I simply snapped. I shouted at Daisy, telling her that Donatella was the reason that Renee Zellweger’s seven-month marriage to Kenny Chesney failed. Daisy exploded, hurling herself at Donatella with cries of “Home-wrecker!” and such. Baker was distracted by the violent catfight, as I had predicted, and I used this to my advantage. I grabbed Nicole and stabbed Baker with her razor-thin shoulder blades. It was quick, and it was fatal. Alas, the impact reverberated through Nicole, and she too perished as her anorexia-induced osteoporosis led her bones to crumble. As she lay on the ground, a crumpled heap of skin barely resembling a human, she seemed to mutter “Et tu, Paris?” before giving up the ghost. At this point, Donatella and Daisy had done one another in, the latter gouging out the former’s eyes with her thumbs, while the former choked Daisy to death by wrapping her hair around her neck. I took in the scene for a moment, shocked at what my own rage had led to. I reasoned that no one could ever prove I was involved in the violent incident involving Baker, prisoner Daisy and what authorities speculated were a blonde velocirapter and a goomba from Super Mario Bros. So, I returned to my cell, picked up my copy of War and Peace, and waited for the ‘morrow, and freedom, safe in the knowledge that my lulu would remain unviolated.


-Paris Hilton, The Hilton Estate