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.
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...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.

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

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

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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/