Recently, our dear friend and mortal enemy Paris Hilton was photographed—by CHANCE, you guys, by serendipitous COINCIDENCE because there just HAPPENED to be photographers happening by her hotel balcony that were all, “Oh look, here I am on my way to the cabana for cocktail, and who happens to be on her balcony but Paris Hilton! What luck! Snap snap!” so it's not like she POSED for this or anything. God.—wearing this absolutely ludicrous and disgusting piece of shit that some asshole who thinks of himself as “edgy”—which, as you likely know, automatically means that he’s not at all—designed and expects people to actually pay real, live, rapidly devalued money for:
I want to throw a molotov cocktail at her.
However, we’ve seen all the elements of this get-up before, which leads me to believe that Paris is operating under the misapprehension that she is equal to the sartorial, cultural and iconoclastical (not a word, is now) sum of three iconic--or, well, two iconic and one really-hot-right-now, perhaps-iconic-in-the-future—women, as expressed in the following equation: