Mein Kampf: Paris Hilton's Prison Diary, Day 1

June 4th 2007

Dear Diary,

Today I surrendered myself to the State of California and began the sentence that was handed to me after a most egregious miscarriage of justice on the part of a deluded arbiter of justice who for some puzzling reason thought it was in the public interest to see me imprisoned for a bit of harmless speeding. My attorney's plea that I was late for a manicure seemingly fell on deaf ears. Judging by the judge's appearance -- the last time she saw a hairbrush was when Adam was knee-high to a grasshopper -- it's clear in retrospect that expecting her to understand the importance of looking one's best, of which perfectly sculpted and coloured nails are an essential aspect, was the incorrect approach. Said attorney was duly dismissed from the Hilton Legal Team in the wake of the verdict, and has been replaced with a more expensive and therefore better member of the bar.

My cell-mate is a chatty and coquettish young lady named Daisy who makes constant queries into the finer points of la vie celebrité. She seems to have an unhealthy interest in the career and life of chipmunk/human hybrid Renee Zellweger. I soon tired of her loquaciousness regarding the soft-spoken Ms. Zellweger, and enacted a fiendish scheme wherein I tied her to a chair using the bedclothes and stuffed a pillow case into her mouth. Peace, thy name is silence. I sat down to bury my head in a copy of Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, when the harsh screech of an electronic bell resonated throughout the complex, informing the inmates and I that lunch time had arrived. I released Daisy from her restraints and we joined a procession of dolorous delinquents. Upon arriving at the cafeteria, I was the subject of a traditional prison initiation ritual wherein my peers threw faeces at me until I rather resembled Grendel’s mother emerging from the swamp. They were shockingly accurate in their pitches, and the sound of their chatter -- of which one of the most common utterances was “Fresh Fish”, the meaning of which I must admit to being ignorant of -- was defeaning. Reader, I think they must like me.

The same could not be said of a certain member of staff, Beatrice “Bulldog” Baker. An hirsute woman with a slightly off-centre glass eye, I admit to being slightly perturbed by the looks she regarded me with, and I was similarly affected by the manner in which she mimed certain actions with her baton when she knew I was looking. I believe it was a reference to an incident during that turbulent period when the sordid details of my personal life were released onto the world wide web, to my immediate consternation and embarrassment. If such behaviour continues, I shall have to confront this Beatrice Baker, and if she does not offer an apology and remedy her behaviour accordingly, I may approach her seniors and make an official complaint.

All in all, my first day of incarceration has flown by rather nicely. If the rest of my sentence proceeds with the same perception of haste, I shall be most pleased. Tomorrow is visiting day and I look forward to seeing my sister. I believe Donatella Versace is also dropping by to see how I’m doing. There are difficulties to come… I admit that I’m not relishing the prospect of showering with 24 other women, Daisy isn’t exactly the most intellectually stimulating company, the food is merely passable and there’s also the matter of the aforementioned Bulldog Baker, but ultimately I think I’ll enjoy my 3 weeks freedom from the relentless pursuit of intrusive paparazzi and the chance to catch up on my correspondence.

-Paris Hilton
SoCal Correctional Institute For Naughty Ladies