Lavender marriages

Hola amigos!

...Those French lessons are really paying off, huh? I'm having a little bit of boy trouble this week. My hub-unit (he WISHES dollfaces), John Smeaton, proposed ... but sadly, I had to turn him down. Why -I hear you ask? Well I hate to be anti-disabilist, but he has one leg shorter than the other. And the shorter leg is a lot thinner than the fatter leg.

Now, you know me sweat-pusses. I like my male bits of rough, as much as the next Madonna. But the leg thing was just too much. Everytime we were in bed fooling around, I could see one set of toes poking outta the duvet while the other set was halfway up the other friggin' pyjama leg. It ain't a good look, sweat-pusses.

Anyweez, I asked my GBF (gay best friend) Dixon Cox how long should a man's legs be.
He said they should be just long enough to reach the ground.
I said, "What, both of them?" - and he said that was the ideal, but that anyone with my "problems" should just take whatever comes along.
As IF, doll-dos. Problems? Moi? Get outta here Dick!

Anyways, as y'all know, I ain't into perfection. There's nothing I hate more than a man who spends longer at the mirror than me, and who is plastic and fake. So I don't want to sound anti-disabled-special needs. I have a ton of Hollywood friends whose needs are special ... and NOOOO, did I say I waz talkin' 'bout you Linds? Or you Brit?

There's nothing worse than a big fat FAKE.
Unless it's a $10 Turkish "Gucchi" handbag or Taiwanese Christian Doh! shoes of course.

Of course, when I SMS-ed Smeatypoos to tell him that we, quite literally, need to be on a level playing field - and not look lopsided when we're standing still - he flipped out sweat-pusses.

He told me that despite the hurtful leg remark, he really, really loved me.

And then he blurted out that if I ditch him, I will end up with some random Hollyweird star (or politician !!! ??? Hello??? does he know me, or what???) that everybody else loves but who will be actively bearding up, making stupid statements and and using heterosexual press plants to hide their orientation on a daily basis. I mean, hullo ??

Just to prove the guy is talking a load of bull$hit I rhymed off a whole buncha people, who I, like, hang with any time I'm at Macho's or Micky's in WeHo. I think Smeatoid is wayyy to paranoid about the beautiful people I'm surrounded by.

Matt LeBlanc and Melissa McKnight

Kylie Minogue and Olivier Martinez

Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston

Tom Cruise and Penelope Cruz

Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes

Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman

Ryan Philippe and Reese Witherspoon

Cheryl Cole and Ashley Cole

John Travolta and Kelly Preston

Jada Pinkett Smith and Will Smith

Liza Minnelli and David Gest

Michael Jackson and Lisa-Marie Presley

George Clooney and Lisa Snowden

Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie

Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown

Jude Law and Sienna Miller

Eddie Murphy and Melanie Brown

Vanessa Paradis and Johnny Depp

Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore

Bruce Willis and Demi Moore

Bill Clinton and Hillary Clinton

Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez

Richard Gere and Cindy Crawford

Kirstie Alley and Parker Stevenson

Tony Perkins and Berry Berenson

Richard Madeley and Judy Finnigan

...these are just a few of my lovely friends that came to mind.

But c'mon - not everybody in Hollyweird is gay, bi or bi-gay or les-gay, Smeaty-peeps, 'kay?

Ka-peesh? Sheesh.

And see you all The Bullet Bar this Friday for the toga party.

Peris xxxx

Paris Hilton plea: Have you see my dog?

MISSING

LOST DOG — HAVE YOU SEEN HER?

Age: 3 in dog years

Weight: Anorexic

Eyes: Dilated

Coat: Spotted/Freckled

Breed: Freckle-Bellied Cokewhore Terrier

My dog was last seen on the morning of July 24, 2007 chasing cars in Santa Monica. She will answer to the call of: Lilo, Badass, Lo Hoe and Dime Bags (two for 10 bucks!)

She was also last seen carrying her favourite toy in her teeth, a little white bag I call her “doggy bag”, and was wearing her favourite black ankle bracelet.

Please come home!!!

If you have any information, please call 000, or Peris Hotline.

(All the change in my couch will be offered for the information leading to the safe return of my dog.)

Peris xxx

Elvis: the Karate Kid

Since it's the 30th anniv since Elvis took off to that big, smoky blues bar in the sky thought I'd let you in on a few secrets about this weird, hamburger-lovin' racist. Here goes...

No 1. Elvis was obsessed with philosophy.

No 2. By the 1970s, his obsession with philosophy had morphed into one with karate.

No 3. Elvis' frequent Vegas shows became punctuated by weird monologues, karate exhibitions and comedy.

No 4. One was like, soooo bad, he rode on stage on the back of the Mafia man Lamar Fike with a toy monkey attached to his neck and sang an X-rated version of Love Me Tender.

Betcha didn't know that, sweat-pusses :)

Adios my lovelies.... Peris xxx

Tango man

Mwwwwah darlinks, Peris here again.

Just back from my hols to Edinborough. Or Embra, as they say in Scotch-land. Been enjoying some Scotch lovin' with my new pash, John "smeato" Smeaton - the scourge of Osama Bin Laden.

Anyhowz, while I was in Scotchland visiting Smeaty-cakes I happened to take in a show at the Edinburgh Festival.

We checked out a chat show from an ex-politician, Tommy Sheridan, who the audience kept heckling with: "Gie us a can o' Tango, Tommy!"
(Not sure what that means, puss-faces ... ain't Scotch people weird!)

...Was like sooooo puzzled by this strange, orangey freak's show, I decided to Google his ass. Every other story I found seemed more outrageous than the last, with headlines like: "Sex-Mad Tommy" or, "Tommy Snorted Cocaine" and"Tommy Drops His Briefs".

Hmmm, I thought. Maybes I just GOTTA meet this guy - maybe Smeatoid's gettin a bit Z-list for an international playgirl like moi, ka-peesh?

Next thing I knew, the orange wonder had me EVERY (and I mean EVERY dahlinks) which way in his green room. Sheesh.

He is packin’ large and knows how to use his equipment. Able to fill out Gold Trojan Magnums XL, he serves it straight up and damn good. What with that, and an impressive array of "accessories" we made more than whoopee, goddamit. I wasn't able to walk the line for the rest of the week.

Gross me out with an industrial-size bottle of KY-409, already. Goddamn.

Loony left? More like do me Right mister. Phew. Is it gettin' hot in heere? Or is it just me?

(Don't tell Smeats, Peris cheated, 'kay? Whatta piece of ass.)

Till next time, pussies... Peris xxxx

Cruisin' for a bruisin'

Mwwah dahlings - Peris here.

Glad to see Tom Cruise could be about to make it off my Stink List with his new movie, Valkyrie.

Have to say sweetums, holding a little golden fellow aloft in his hand (and no, I don't mean Michael J Fox honeyz) is still light years away - despite his first real "outing" as a bad guy.

Check out this picture I've posted. Sinister? More like the Village People.

Till next time sweety-cakes...Peris x

John Smeaton ROCKS ! Marriage bells for Peris and John ...

Well danglings,
My transatlantic, baggage-handling love interest, John Smeaton, has been busy over the weekend.
As most of you know, he's recovering after "setting aboot" a suicidal Osama operative who set himself ablaze outside Glasgow Airport.
Anyway, I rang my lil Smeaty-cakes last night and asked him to tell me the story again.
"Well Peris doll, it was like I said at the time. If you chuck a can of Lynx onto a bonfire the flames come shooting out the top. It was like that."
Wow - hang the money, I'm paying for the banter, people!
Will keep you all updated on how plans for our wedding are going.
(Don't bother trying to muscle in on this one, Lindsay, 'kay? He's mine, ALL mine.)
Till next time...Perisxxx

Tit for Tat

Hiya dollfaces.
A great big mmwahhh from Hilton HQ. Yes, Peris here - spread-eagled and ready to blog my touche off. What else is there in life, danglings?

OK people - now you know how my 'starveillance' credentials are second-to-none, what with me being so well-connected in Celebritywood? Well, the best bit about being Peris is the trust the 'A' listers place in me.

Yep, a seductive glance and a quick grope in the Hilton limo is all it takes for those tight-asses to spill the beans to lil old me. (Shaddup ALREADY, Hugh Hefner - I know that webcam was aimed right at the hole in my pantyhose.)

Anyroads, that's how cum I get the lowdown on the real behind-the-scenes bust-ups, dummy spits and downright bitchiness that'd make even the biggest celebrity potty-mouths blush. You WISH that was you, Anne Robinson and Gordon Ramsay! Ferme la bushes, alreadys!
You are the weakest link - goodbye.

No, those guys are like Nancy Drew's baby sisters compared to some of the celeb tantrums I've been whispered about.

Anyway, you gorgeous Peris-lovers. I want you to cum all over me with your most-requested bitch-fests...and I will tell you how real/unreal/underplayed your nominated miaow really was, 'kay?

Mommy-dearest sez the cat-fight between Joan Crawford and Bette Davis was legendary - they didn't just pretend-fight in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?, they REALLY hated each others' guts, people. Not like the way me and Nicole R staged our fight for ratings. No sirree. That was when people knew how to argue, right? Like back in the 70s.

But my lil sis Nic says Rosie O'Donnell and Donald Trump's spat has to be the all-time greatest punch-up.

As my followers will know, The Trumpster spat the dummy big-time after Big Rosie made comments regarding the Wigster allowing Miss USA 2006, Tara Conner, to keep her crown after failing a drug test. Apparently, Nic says they had to be held apart at a recent charity event - no-one was hurt in the incident, but a certain someone's acrylic accessory never quite made it into the backstage dressing room intact!

Personelly, I just loooove the shit that flew between Naomi Campbell and Tyra Banks; and Naomi Campbell and Victoria 'Tits' Beckham; and Naomi Campbell and Nelson Mandela, Naomi Campbell and various nameless, couldn't-care-less PAs; and Naomi and Mike Tyson. Pigeons learn faster, dollfaces.

I'd like to see her mud-wrestle a real opponent though. I think Anna Wintour or maybe even that other dumb, British broad - Anne Robinson - could reduce that stupid-assed-clothes-horse-with-attitude into a pile of blubbering Jello-o with just a stare and a wave of a crooked middle finger.

Anyways, send in your celeb spats to me on my comments section (don't even GO there Yoko, 'kay? You whiney, crack-addicted egotist.)

I’m sorry John, we know you were a working-class hero and all that, a bit of a revolutionary dead-set against war, but no one really believed it was your idea to lie in bed in your own shit and piss for a week. It was hers, goddamit.

And that’s not art Yoko, it’s just fucking stupid.

I'll tell you why I hate the screeching, plastic-faced little harriden for: for using her hold over John Lennon while he was alive, and for constantly appearing like the shopkeeper from Mr Benn whenever her late husband’s name is mentioned, for the sole purpose of promoting her own pathetic, miserable attempts at what she and the rest of the pseud-loving, goatee-bearded world of wankers think they can palm off on the public as “art”.

Let's face it sweat-pusses, without the First Man of Pop she would be nothing more than a fourth-rate pap, and street performer that everyone pitied for being a little bit simple and just a little bit sad. Yoko Ono - just give it up will you, and ram it? And take your toga with you alreadys!!!The best nomination -and best critique of a celeb spat will win a personal visit from me in the nude (naturellement!) and may even get a free blow. (Don't even bother entering Jack-y Osbourne...been there, done that, jizzed all over the Tee-shirt, ka-peesh?)

Peris xxxx

Celebrity twats

Hi dollfaces.

Peris here.
Don'tcha just hate it when someone becomes famous just for being fucking famous?

Talentless twat (left), and me.
--------------------------------------
...Or copies their better-dressed, more hip, more desirable friend, but can't quite pull it off? (That's soooo single white female, Brad ! ) And Benicio, c'mon. You're using the oldest trick in the book - hanging with the ugly guy so you can clean up with the ladeez. I mean, I invented that one. Why else would I be seen with Kimberley Stewart for Chrissakes ?????

Or, sheesh, the man who really wants to be a girl. Or is that the girl who wants to be a man. Stop already with the gender-bending, KD. And note to Tobey - developing "moobs" does NOT mean you are halfway to reaching your goal. 'Kay?

There's only one guy I know who can make this look work... (see pic below.)

Uncle Steve lookin' peeved.

---------------------------

A snap from the Hilton family album (don't worry,

Uncle Steve has been cut outta the will, alreadys!)

---------------------------- -----------------------
And really don't know why the hell I included this one. It's Leo di Caprio in both pix, ain't it?

Till next time, sweat-pusses...Peris xxx

Al-Qaeda "smeats" its match.

Mwwwah dahlinks. Peris here.

Well, it's been a busy week here at Hilton Heiress towers. As you know, living a jet-set lifestyle is such a drag, y'know? I always go on holiday and lose my luggage - but I make up for it by coming back with something I didn't take with me, usually an STD or genital warts. The goddam Vaseline and industrial-strength KY Jelly just don't keep it at bay, goddamit.

Anyroads, losing my suitcase seems to be an occupational hazard. Those shifty baggage-handling BAHstads at the airport just can't be trusted to stick a piece of goddam metal and plastic in a goddam hold and then take it outta the goddam hold again, and load it onto a goddam conveyor belt. No sirree.

You might know I just flew back in to Hell-Ay from Hawaii (needed a little 'me' time after the hell-in-a-cell episode. 'Nuff said.) Suffice to say the Louis Vuitton diamante-encrusted suitcase on wheels went on a little holiday of its own - to the Bahamas. It's been away longer than me! Still waiting for some stinkin' little man on a moped to rock up to my house with it, with all my stuff inside it worn by some asshole who thought it would be a great joke to spend a night in Peris' panties.

The only time Peris' panties, Peris' pop-up dungeon and Peris' poodle arrived safely was the time I took a little detour to Glasgow on my way to London. As I stepped down onto the tarmac, I looked at a handsome young baggage handler rolling a trolley towards me, piled high with all my travel essentials: my suitcase, my dog and my superior collection of contraceptive devices.

He said he wanted to take personal care of my belongings as he was a HUUUUGE fan of mine. I thought the guy had quite literally gone ga-ga. (I mean, c'mon - a fan of mine? Think white - and get serious people.) Anyways, he asked me for my autograph and I said - no waaaay, I want yours instead as I've never, ever had anyone say they were a fan of mine, goddamit !!!

John Smeaton then scribbled his name, and his mobile right across my left tit (it's me after all, ka-peesh?) And before I knew it, we were engaged in a whirlwind romance that quite literally, took my breath away. (OK, OK, shaddup Nic - I was about to tell 'em that I blew him, and gagged because his girth was so goddam impressive.)

Anyways, I could NOT believe it when I heard that mon amour had taken on, quite literally, the most evil, man who's ever lived in a cave, with an ill-fitting turban, Osama Bean Lardon.

As thousands of Glaswegians queued, moaned and sneakily sipped Buckfast on a rainy Saturday afternoon, one man stood vigilant outside the airport terminal. Baggage supervisor, hero, smoker, John Smeaton ! (My loveur !)

Little did he know, as he happily dragged on his fag, that two crazed al-Qaeda operatives were preparing to meet their maker. But they didn’t meet their maker. Instead they met British Airports' Authority's answer to Jack Bauer. As the Jeep’s engine revved and the passenger started throwing the gasoline containers out the windows like he was Santa in a trailer-park, one man stepped in to help the cops take control.

Yes, my Braveheart boyf decked the Has-Been Laden guy, who drove thru Glasgow Airport terminal door and set himself alight.

Afterwards, "Smeats" told a CNN TV reporter that he'd hit the blazing suicidal maniac squarely on the jaw and told him: "This is Glesgae, pal. We'll just set aboot ye."

And in the background, other passengers in the terminal building could be heard saying: "Let the bastard burn!" as they coolly checked-in for their flights and strolled past my gorgeous, have-a-go hero.

...All I gotta say is - Osama, watch out. John Smeaton's about.

(Mwwah Johnny baby....Peris xxx)

Al Gore in bed with magnet guys!

Sweetcakes...you heard it here first.

Sexy environmentalist, and the best President the US never had, Al Gore, is getting ready to launch his Live Earth project on 7.7.07.

But before he does that, he's got a little engagement with those crazy Paddy-whacks I blogged about before.

(Or at least, that's what my mole in the Pig and Whistle pub car park in Islington tells moi ... thanks for the tip, Jim Nasium !)

Big Al is hooking up with Steorn to promote their free energy magnets, powered by Johnnie Walker. And my mole-in-the-Steorn-hole tells me that Big Al is gonna rock up to Kinetica Museum. Dynamite. Or should I say - dynamagnet!

Let's just hope Big Al has a ladder, and a Powerpoint presentation, big enough for the job.

Till next time dollfaces. Peris xxx

http://www.kinetica-museum.org/

Magnetica!

Mmmmwwahhh dahlings.
Peris here.

My hardcore fanatics (yes, you know who you are sweeties!) will be aware that this season's must-have accessory for every self-respecting hotel heiress' is - an array of pink, plastic, wipe-down "bedroom hardware".

As you know sweetcakes', my boudoir has seen a lot of action.

But let's face it, ladeez. The most annoying thing that can happen during a pivotal boudoir moment is (apart from copping a premature spray in the face) has gotta be hitting the "ON" button of your favourite "device" -only to find the battery is as dead as a dodo, ka-peesh?

Anyways, those embarrassing, and endlessly futile clicks of the chipolata-shaped dildo could soon be over. What's my secret, I hear you cry, dollfaces?

Well, I've got one word for ya - MAGNETS.

Yep, that's right. You CAN get somethin' for nothin'.

(And no, Winona - I don't mean a 'five-fingered discount' at Macy's, pardon my Francais. Ferme la bushe, alreadys!!!)

I'm talkin' bout free energy. Straight outta thin air.

A lil old Paddy-whack company from Leprechaun land, called Steorn, has beat the geeks in the white lab coats to produce free energy from neodymium magnets.

Apparently, you drop a magnet into a dram of Scotch, set it alight, et voila! The magnet gives out high-voltage energy which can then be bottled, or channelled into your TV - or dildo. Whatev! Ka-peesh? (I'm sure I was off the day they taught this in Chemistry class.)

Anyroads, the guys at Steorn are setting up a little display in London at the Kinetica Museum. One guy is going to be aiming a bottle of Johnnie Walker into a funnel, and down into the lips of a pouting model (prolly Jordan, Paula Abdul or some other 'D' lister dollfaces), who will hold a dildo-shaped magnet in her teeth, while the Scotch is poured over it.

My mole at the Elephant & Castle (is that a pub) who is one of the geeks putting on this energy show, is adamant the magnet will then spin round, spitting out more energy than is put in (from the Johnnie Walker whisky AND the breath of Jordan/Paula Abdul combined) - which is a lotta energy people.

This free energy stuff will be on sale soon - hopefully Bloomingdales and Saks, but I'm sure Walmart and the 7-11 will stock their own-brand versions in some of the trailer parks too.

They'll probably even have little fridge magnets, which will be able to power entire countries like Wyoming and maybe even the Bahamas.

Check the story out here:

http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/breaking-news/ireland/business/article2734631.ece

and here...

http://www.rte.ie/news/2007/0704/steorn.html

(I do think these guys have played it down too much. And why the hell have they dropped all mention of Johnnie Walker, goddamit? These jokers have no clue how to investigate a science story, a la yours truly.)

Keep an eye on the Leprechauns' site. And watch out for magnetised dildos. Coming to a Walmart shelf near you soon !!!

http://www.steorn.com/news/releases/

Tax crook? Moi ?

Dollfaces,
You know I'm not short of a dollar or billion. I can always be found among the great unwashed, where throngs of bargain-hunters descend on Bloomingdales every January (Trust me - the super-outsized glasses and wig work a treat, pussycats. Just ask Kelly Osbourne.)

You know me, I hate the I'm-trying-to-hard-with-the-bling look a la P Diddy and J-Lo. Ka-peesh? It's so 1996. Less is more my friends.

Anyways, I'm having a bit of trouble with my Hell-Ay tax attorney Ferris Wheeler. I only hired him because my good friend Don Corleone, my neighbour Martha Stewart and one of my celebrity fans, Ken Dodd, recommended him as a stand-up guy. But sheesh, the dude is a stickler for receipts 'n' stuff. He's even asked me to list all the freebies and goodie-bags I've been given over the last 3 years. I mean, who is this guy? Mother Theresa?

What's happened to the world, people? What is wrong with anyone, me included, just trying to make an honest buck by exploiting my assets and talents? Or using my well-heeled connections to run the competition outta town? (I mean, Gawd, if it's good enough for Bryce Dallas Howard and Rumer Willis, heck yeah - count me in dollfaces. Because those two would sooo have had top-billing in The Village and Hostage without a hand up from Daddios Ron Howard and Bruce Willis. Natch!)

Mind you, some people take using their connections waaaay too far. Whaddya think ??? Ciao for niao... Perisxxx

http://www.prisonplanet.com/german_firm_probes_final_world_trade_center_deals.htm

The worst cafe EVAH in Manly,Brisbane, Australia

Mwwaah again dahlings.
Peris here.
Just had to keep my "possum" friends Down Under happy.
As you know, my best pal Tara Reid (after Nicole R, that is) spent time in Australia for some racing thang in the country's bewdiful Queensland coast.
You'll know from watching Tara going wild on E! that even more than sex and getting some DIY plastic surgery, she loooves her food. Her verdict on Australia? Food is $hit. Tara's entourage had a few dodgy experiences in Queensland's Gold Coast, but the worst evah was in a little place north of surfing heaven called Manly. This place even has the gold-plated nerve to name their eaterie after the best-ever movie in the world, Da Vinci Code. Sheesh!

Anyhowz, the place was reviewed by Tara's minder, and his family - go look-see people -and for Gawds' sakes, don't order the French toast, already. As IF.

http://www.my247.com.au/brisbane/reviews/Cafe-Da-Vinci.67

Mwwwwwah and mwwwwah again dahlings.
Peris here.

Woke up today with real bad "bed hair". A bouffante, Goddamit.

Mommy reckons little sis Nicky was up to her old tricks again - siphoning off my Daniel Galvin and Kerastase shampoo and swapping it for aWalmart own brand ... or more likely, Sunsilk or Schwarzkopf. Geez no waaaay mom. I mean, get real...I would have noticed the hives and allergic reaction on her bod if she'd pulled a stunt like that.

Anydos, Nic denied all knowledge. Whatev !

Gene Poole (Nic's new life coach/personal trainer/hair stylist) reckons it's all to do with these ET drones that have been seen round our neck of the Californian woods, near Hell-Ay. Prolly causing electricity or static in the air, which made my hair puff up to massive propotions - even bigger than Kelly Osbourne's ego.

"Defrizz me now, Gene" : Kelly Osbourne
-----------------------------------------
Gene says everyone who has been through his salon has run in screaming - "defrizz me NOW Gene!" - and he means everyone. Sheesh. In the non-biblical sense.

Yep, you heard it here first... first to come in screaming in was Kelly Osbourne, then Nicole Kidman and her hub-unit Keith Cobain, closely followed by Shakira (go figure!) and Sanjaya... well, like, HULLO ?

Anyways, I was like - a bit sceptical about this UFO drone thing. I texted Gene to let him know it was prolly Nicole R showing off her new private transport (Lionel's private jet doesn't really do it for her anymore.)

But no, Gene was adamant. These drones have been developed in the "deep black" for over two decades - and can "cloak" themselves with some sorta invisibility shield. They give out all sorta radiation, most of it toxic to hair extensions. Like, whateva!

I said there was NO WAY that NASA, or the US Government ,would be able to fly these babies around and keep it secret for thaaat long. I mean, c'mon. Barbara Walters would have invited the pilot onto The View by now.

Anywayhows, check out the pix on my blog and see for yourselves, dollfaces. (And what's with all the weird hyroglyphics on the wings of this, goddamit?

My money's on a new mode of transport being secretly trialled for Richard Branson to get his Californian pals between Hell-Ay and the Virgin Islands.) Whaddya think ???

Some gal called Linda Moulton Howe's got the full story on it at: http://www.earthfiles.com/

Boney M

MMMMMwah dahlings.
Peris here.

Since I've been a free woman, my star is definitely on the ascendancy, ka-peesh?

I've had Tad Pole from Vogue, Paige Turner of NY Post, Dan Druff from CNN, Lance Boyle from SBS, Kandi Apple from the San Fran Chron AND the Dalai Lama and all these like, wow, HUGE names in journalism ring my agent desperate for lil old me to come out of the closet and reveal all.

(As if, peaches-hon. A girl's gotta know when to keep some things private, right? )

Anyhows, while I was in solitary, I was like TOTALLY cut off from the outside world, with no clue of what was with news and current affairs, like ... was Britney hot 'n' heavy with K-Fed again? (Hope not - she sure don't need that gold-diggin' white trash pulling her princessa butt into the gutter.) And my old gal pal, Nicole Richie - has she gotta bun in the oven? All the big-ticket stuff... Whatev!

Anyways, I was thumbing thru the last copies of Nat Enquirer and OK! who had the nerve to keep publishing while I was going through hell in a cell (how they managed to find enough news and pictures to fill their pages while I was in the big house, well, I shuh will never know.)

I thumbed through the mags while I was in the waiting room of my aura cleanser and spiritualist advisor, Anne Teak.

She is like, a hundred and 70, and is a spooky old British lady with a hotline to the other side.

And goddamit, she is such an old gasbag. But she did say that since my release, I would be a woman on a mission to spread The Word.

Yes, I am on a mission (according to Teaky's runes) to transform the world from zeros to heroes - in the fashion stakes!

My first mission is to take on some British woman and tell her what the hell not to wear. (Why oh why do British women dress like such frumps?....hmmm? Ms Kate Winslet and Ms Sienna Miller? Yup, yours truly has never been into Yo-Yo diets, or leaving the house without making sure my eyebrows matched my hairline) .

Anytimes, her name is Tranny Woodall, or something, and she styles herself as a British Anna Wintour. As IF, dahlings. Anyroads, to see the gargantuan task that lies ahead of me, check out these pix I've posted of her to my blog.

(Tranny on the right.)

Sheesh. Those bones. Those bingo wings. (Cover your ears now Nicole - no offence directed at you sweetie - you're the only girl I know who can pull off Boney M chic.)

And while we're on a roll with making over our gal pals across the Pond, it's never a good look to go cruising with your mom, Beatrice. 'Cept for me of course... that poor girl. Imagine - being known for just being a par-tae girl - and now her daughter is going the same way. Yep, this mom-and-child pair-up got me thinking, it's like the Gastineau Girls but without the N-Why-See attitude and wisecracks.

Till next time dollfaces... Peris x

PS> Booty and the Beach post will be coming to you soon. Just as soon as Teaky has cleansed my aura of the prison carbolic soap. Goddamn.

Old Spice

MMMMMwah dahlings.
Peris here.

Fresh out of jail. Foil-fresh, fragrant and wearing no panties. At least that way I didn't need to turn them inside out every night. Ka-peesh ?

Anyhows, I started this little blogg when I was in the big house reading about all those cool things those guys Matthew, Luke and John did.

That's when I knew my life had like totally changed.

I am sooo a better person. I swear to God mom. I was reading the Bible and not fantasising about being done 60 diff ways by McConnaughey, Wilson and Cusack - sheesh.

But it did get kinda sweaty back there in my top bunk for a while... (Sorry 'bout that Charmaine. I've left you two sticks of Hubba Bubba and a diamante-thong behind the 3rd window bar on the right.)

Anyways, I was almost tempted to call my attorney and have him call the judge to tell him I want to be locked up to serve the rest of my sentence.
Why? Because five saggy English girls known as Old Spice, Retarded Spice, Hetero-Esque Spice, Tattooed 'n' Pierced Spice and ... uh, the one that's stood close to the airbed inflator (HULLO - are those boobies for real ??? They're fighting to get away from you, baby girl...

...they've decided to make a "comeback" and drag their Prada-covered bootys all over the globe to "thank" their fans. Now, I hate to bust their booble, whoops, I mean bubble. But believe me honey, the only way to thank your fans is invite them into your bedroom for a bit of a look-see while you bounce around with your hub-unit - or the latest victim of your pap-pleasing par-tae.

Not ONE of these hasbeens ... errr... I mean ladeez, are mattress-worthy.

In par-tick, Old Spice. I mean, c'mon. Get real. You've got to know how to work that camera, baby. Just ask her hub-unit. David Bra-ckham. (He can orbit in my Galaxy any time :) And perhaps he will, tee hee. I even SMS-d his bootylicious ex-girlfriend Rebecca Loose to find out how she managed to snare such a great piece of manhood. Miaow! Now there's a pussycat doll that knows how to Pimp Her Ride. Know whadda mean???

Next time - Booty and the Beach.