LETTER FROM A LOS ANGELES REGIONAL DETENTION CENTER

As a matter of principle, I try never to use the words "Paris" or "Hilton" in the same sentence unless I've just made an extraordinary hotel reservation, but today I received a copy of the following letter, smuggled to me from Paris' Los Angeles prison cell. It seemed too important not to share.

LETTER FROM A LOS ANGELES REGIONAL DETENTION CENTER
(with apologies to Martin Luther King, Jr.)

My dear fellow humans:

While confined here in this detention center, I came across recent statements calling my present activities “self-serving” and “opportunistic.” While these cruel words sting, I refuse to end my protest. I will remain in my bright orange jumpsuit, shivering under my three thin blankets, afraid to peer into the mirror at my shimmer-free lips, sad and faux fur-free until the glorious, long-awaited day when the world’s press – and I mean you, Mary Hart – finally, finally shine their collective spotlight on something significant and substantial. I refer, of course, to the plight of over-privileged, chronically-intoxicated blondes and near-blondes. Lindsey, Britney, myself – all of us been abandoned and set adrift in a fog of obscurity and inattention. No one will look at us. No one will write about us. We are the flame yet we have no moths. Thirteen year old boys and prepubescent girls, soccer moms and genial masturbators throughout the country all ignore us, bullheaded in their focus on the trivialities that hold the world’s attention hostage. Day after day, the citizens of America do nothing but engage in intelligent, insightful analysis and commentary on what I call the Axis of Trifles: Iraq, Darfur, and climate change. I say screw that and its little dog.

I am in Los Angeles because injustice is here. Vacuity has been forced aside, replaced by depth of character, by reason and serious thought. What will become of our nation if we lose our size zeroes, our velour “Juicy”-assed pants, our designer drug addictions, our voyeuristic joie de vivre? What will happen to our government, our society, our very way of life if we think for ourselves, if we put aside our botox injections and instead inject ourselves with the botulism of knowledge? I’ll tell you. We’re going to start listening to NPR. We’re going to read AND subscribe to The Wilson Quarterly. We’re going to watch NOVA. We’re going to understand The Daily Show. Again, I say screw that, its little dog and its little dog’s friend.

I don’t hate you for your misguided ways, but I do pity you. I hope that all of you will look deep within your souls and come to know right from wrong, shallow from deep, Pamela Anderson from Heather Locklear. Together, we can find our priorities. We can set ourselves straight. And we can become the nation we were destined to be: a country full of a lot of not-so-smart people who actually care whether I live or die.

With heaven’s help, we can be that nation. Let us hope it’s not too late.

Peace out bitches,

Paris