When we 55 each week, it’s usually because I have looked to my iPod for inspiration; I try and choose a meaningful song with which to name our Flash Fiction orgies and yes, it’s almost guaranteed that whatever I select once aired on 120 Minutes.
However, on this freaky Friday, like most of you, I’ve got a screaming/crying blonde on the brain. It seems apposite to use one of her shitty songs, in honor of all this justice she got served. Welcome to “Screwed”, from her eponymously named album which is chock full o’ Scott Storch-tainted crap. Perhaps they should make Miss Hilton listen to it in prison, 24/7, as part of her rehabilitation…I know after 30 seconds of each song, I was clawing off my headphones while vowing to never misbehave again. It’s THAT painful.
The lyrics to “Screwed” (heh) are below the jump. Don’t expect much from them. Wait, what am I saying, you are all too bright for that…though if you’re anything like me, you’ll giggle at the thought that the words “I’m screwed” are repeated eight times (ah, there’s the reason for our title). Perhaps she was humming them to herself in the police car?
No matter, on this Fast Fiction Friday, write 55 words about heiresses, anything Paris’s or what’s fairest. Ignore our topic and write about other stuff, too, as long as you do so with exactly 55 words, since that’s what nanofiction is all about. Not sure how to play? Lookie here:
A literary work will be considered 55 Fiction if it has:
1. Fifty-five words exactly(A non-negotiable rule)
2. A setting,
3. One or more characters,
4. Some conflict, and
5. A resolution. (Not limited to moral of the story)
Many new versions of the 55 Fiction have started to modify on the rules by either ignoring to include conflict, or basing it on a true incident and dramatising it. [wiki]
Having copied and pasted all that, in celebration of today’s delicious victory for right over pink-clad evil, you haiku-freaks can get down, too. Same rules for you, just fit your genius in three lines of carefully-counted syllables.
Finally, if you’re wondering what’s up with our visual aid– it’s from an episode of South Park which aired in December of 2004. “Stupid Spoiled Whore Video Playset” was hilarious (and it really was the name of the show, so you can’t yell at me for the caption…that’s what I meant by the asterisk, not that you had any way of guessing that):
Hilton presents herself as “totally spoiled and snobby” and “a whore”, according to onlookers, and announces the opening of a store called “Stupid Spoiled Whore” in South Park. The girls enter and discover, among other things, lewd clothing and a perfume titled “Skanque”. Wendy is appalled by the blatant objectification of women. As Paris drives away in her limo, her small pet dog, in a fit of depression, pulls out a gun and commits suicide. Paris shrieks that “it happened again! Another dog killed itself!” The limo driver himself appears less than surprised.
Later that day, Wendy goes over to a friend’s house and is quickly confronted with the Stupid Spoiled Whore Video Playset, a partial reference to the Paris Hilton Sex Tape scandal that occurred several months prior. The kit takes jabs at Hilton by describing its contents as including “a night vision filter, fake money, losable cell phone, and 16 hits of ecstasy!” Meanwhile, Hilton is in fits over the suicide of her dog, Tinkerbell. In her throes of sorrow, she sees Butters, puts him in a bear costume and demands that he come with her as her replacement pet, naming him “Mr. Biggles”. [wiki]
………………………………….
Screwed by Paris Hilton
I’m Screwed (8x)
Please don’t let it begin
You’re under my skin
Same old story
Boy meets girl and she falls much harder than him
Baby, where’s the glory
If all night, all night, you’re attention’s not mine
Please don’t let it begin
You’re under my skin
It’s a sin cause you’re starting to win
Since I’m already screwed
Here’s a message to you
My heart’s wide open
I’m just getting through to the lover in you
Yet I’m still hoping
That tonight, tonight, you’re gonna turn down the lights
And give me a little more room just to prove it to you
What do I gotta do?
Just push her aside
She’s not your type
So cliché when a boy falls under the spell
Of a woman from hell
It’s hard to take cause
Tonight, tonight, you could have found out I might
Have been the girl of your dreams
Baby, you might have seen what it means just to really be free
Since I’m already screwed
Here’s a message to you
My heart’s wide open
I’m just looking through to the lover in you
Yet I’m still hoping
That tonight, tonight, you’re gonna turn down the lights
And give me a little more room just to prove it to you
What do I gotta do?
Tell me that you do
Tell me that you do
Tell me that you wanna take my number
There will come a day
An easy day in May or a storm in mid December
When you need someone just to have a little fun
I could be the perfect girl for you
When you need someone just to have a little fun
I could be the perfect girl for you to ruin
They called all the specialists, “Paris has a medical condition!!” “She is suffering!!” she can’t eat, she cant sleep. She cries whole night, in showers she picks fights!
“Quick! Find the reason” the momma said, “What my baby needs? I will get her “
The findings made her skin crawl.. The symptoms were of penis withdrawl.
Animal lover with teeming menagerie? No. Very spoiled girl.
Boy meets girl and she falls much harder than he does; life, like song, is lame.
Full of despair, hidden in your shawl.
Heir to brown hair, not much California in you. If you were any darker, grandma would call the zoo
Don’t hide your eyes, I’ve found something new.
Rub some lotion on your skin, Dye your hair blond and prepare to sin.
(Sponsored by HLL for mercury free skin)
David Duke, George Allen, and the KKK They may not like outsourcing
But they’ve got something nice to say:
“At least you have it right when it comes to skin, whiten it up and we’ll let you in
“In the end, we’re all one people, Even if our biggest monument looks like a hooded steeple“
Poor little rich skank New sweetheart of cellblock five Watch out for that broom!
Paris sat the corner and felt a bit scared. What is this life? How have I fared?
Then he wiped her eyes and decided starting today To give her energy to the poor and push the bitterness away
No drugs and no more bright lights. Simple days and sleep-filled nights
Breathing slowly, she stood . . .
two years later . . .
With no new album and only a clothing line left Poor Paris began to put on some heft
With no fruit in her diet and broccoli scorned She preferred Cheetos and cholocate popcorn
Out in public, her old fans didn’t have a clue She was 300 lbs, wearing a mink moo moo
i was exploring paris late one night and stayed in the hilton. The accommodations were spacious, if a little worse the wear. I guess many people had slept there before i. I ordered room service which came quickly. But I was charged for services I thought were free. whenever I’m in paris i get screwed.
With the pink mink moo moo making her sweat Paris took her small dog to the vet
When the dubious dog doctor “accidentally” brushed her breast They decided to date, give loneliness a rest
“I was famous!”
“Me too! I used to be more!
Before giving drugs to the stars, My name was Sandeep Kapoor“
“You mean you prescribed for Anna Nicole!” “Yes! Yes! I loved her you know.
“But, alas, now my days are all hairballs and fleas Not too long ago Anna was naked with me.”
“You know, doc. I’m glad you gave me a grope. I think I have a plan if you can score some dope.”
(cont.)
After weeks of phen-phen, secret workouts, and a planned leak to the press The couple saw more of each other and their pain (and bums) became less
But we’ll leave their story til tomorrow
For as the juices flow and tongues reach deep, It’s best not to watch. We don’t want to lose sleep.
Golden light slants through trees Golden hair falls through bars Nature and commerce.
I ain’t gonna eat, I ain’t gonna sleep. Ain’t gonna breathe till I see, what I wanna see, and what I wanna see is you fine female filmmaker desi, make a movie, in five days you see, an don’t use your sexualitee, or give it up: marry, vacate in paree, your kid wins spelling bee…
theres a soundtrack to that post:
http://www.musicremedy.com/e/Eminem/videos/Go_To_Sleep_ft_DMX__Obie_Trice-88.html
(For the long 55, my apologies, but I cannot rest, a long weekend of work looms and I need to digress)
In an intimate setting, Paris told her dreams to Kapoor Then she puked in a bucket, her dinner no more.
“Listen, my small macaca. It’s not about money, not drugs, not sex. All I want, all I live for, is to be in the press!”
Sandeep squinted to check his member, then sighed He’d prescribed purging, but her breath brought tears to his eyes.
“My brown dream! Listen! How can I do it? Day after day, No celebrity has survived full press coverage without beginning to fray!”
“Paris, maybe you shouldn’t try to be a star Instead run for public office, they’ll even give you a car If you keep your seat belt on, you can go far.”
“Stop joking, I know you think I’m not so quick” “Paris, I’m serious, being a politician may do the trick”
“President Giuliani needs a secretary of state, Someone with convictions and willing to tempt fate.”
“Trade with China is bad, our budget is in a funk, Giuliani needs an excuse to stop trade or we’ll all be sunk”
“Macaca, I adore you but it sounds too complex, All I know are a bit about dogs and a lot about sex.”
As they cuddled, the moonbeams seemed to burn, Slowly, Sandeep’s few sober brain cells churned
In the White House, Rudy paced his office and tensed his jaw The country was in shambles, no more shock, no more awe.
He sighed, and flipped on the screen Paris Hilton was on, with a bronzer sheen.
Rudy had thought she’d gone the way of the King But her body looked as if she hadn’t eaten a thing
She sobbed, holding a small white fluffy pile, She spoke of poison pet food, and people quite vile.
“Those people have done this year after year! They have poisoned our pets to instill fear!”
As the politicians watched from Bejing, they sent police to Wudi, “Those idiots’ fake dog food caused Hilton’s fluffy to die!”
“Now we’ll have trouble, just wait and see. With Iraq, Bush maimed his own soldiers and still got away free But this is where the Americans change their heart, Paris’s dead little Rover–no more furball to walk in the park.”
(two days later)
Rudy pressed the intercom and said, “Send her in!” In a black suit, Paris came forward and tried not to grin.
Word of this meeting sent approval polls up, Everyone wanted Paris in power to avenge her fallen pup.
Within days, a quick botox, and fabulous new shoes, Paris stood at the Capitol and swore to uphold truth
As Secretary of State, she saw herself in charge of the foreign affair To drab peace talks, she brought a bedroom flair
But despite protests and migraines on the left The world became more peaceful, who would have guessed
India Abroad named Sandeep man of the year, He smiled, thought of Anna Nicole, and let out a cheer.
Maybe you should have thought of this before driving that hot Benz while drunk.
Maybe you should have done better on the lsat then no more web whore
Rani, Betty, TROLL I got a one-sixty-eight So go fuck yourself.
Aren’t Haiku’s ‘posed to be peaceful and stuffs, ya? Rather have peace then match syllable requirements.
i love you anna, but hot benz???? the slr is a disgusting, over-styled monster. sure, it’s eye catching like
paris hiltona porn star but lacks the refinement of an aston. worse still, its untamed high-reving engine mated to an automatic tranny makes no sense.you’re a woman of high-style anna, but we all have bad hair days.
But Manju, isn’t “hot” one of her trademark words? 🙂 I thought it would be pertinent (and yes, I’ll admit it– it didn’t hurt that it fit perfectly, syllabically).
The car which owns my heart
a) was a 4-speed MANUAL b) hasn’t been made in 50 years c) does have a certain feature in common with the SLR.
I’d give a kidney and my second-born for one widow-making W198. Suh-woon.
My hair may be a mess today, but my taste in cars? Never. 😉
ah yes. the original gull-wing. such style and grace. just like the original Paris.
Throw away the Key She’s stupid and smells of wee “wee wee?†wrong Paris
If the late Johnnie Cochran defended her:
“If she can afford the bail, get her outta jail.”
“If the alcohol level’s low, gotta let her go.”
If he was prosecuting her:
“If she’s caught with a shot-glass, lock up her ass.”
“Is she guilty? Oui, oui, Paris.”
And big girls don’t cryyy [Anna]
If heiress behaves I’ll need great strength to deal with a bland newspaper
There once lived an heiress, who made like the pirates, Living each day bathed in gold..
The nation envied, They watched her with greed, Partying her nights like a ho.
Soon she was found, Quite Drunk and unwound, Merrily behind the wheel…
Last when I heard, They said of this turd, Finally , “Justice is served”.
Paris in the summer, Oh what a bummer To have to go to the slammer But maybe she’ll meet a thug with a hummer
Love is strange and cruel As she eats her lumpy gruel Her eyes lock with a long-haired whore Oh, they say its a bore This has happened before But it’s still soooo hot Oh judge, fear not Now she wont leave the jail oh, not,
(Please pardon the painful rhyming here, and the over 55-limit. Even after a beer and a glasss of wine a haiku-shaiku is hard to come)
Spelling correction above: glass instead of glasss (did i mention the alcohol beverages i had consumed?)
I wish we had less of these kinds of posts on sepia and more like the one about Fareed Zakaria post.
Sometimes these posts seem frivolous.
However, having been a daily reader for the past year, although I don’t always like them, I definitely appreciate them.
In a fun way, they balance things out, let out some steam . . .
Late and kind of off topic, but what the heck…
They stood together in front of the priest, reciting their vows. He looked into her eyes with a glint of satisfaction.
It was almost as it was three years prior. Only, on that day in front of another priest, he unashamedly looked into her eyes from afar, as the best man at her first wedding.