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.)
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)
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