calgarygirl
09-22-2005, 01:14 PM
LIFE WITH NEWMAN – DEAR PARIS
Dear Paris Hilton:
I have never really written a fan letter before and I am truly sort of embarrassed. Not because this is a fan letter, but because I'm writing someone whose name is a combination of an obnoxious city and a hotel chain. I've recommended this amalgamation to several of my pregnant girlfriends, but so far they have rejected Toronto Ramada, Denver Waldorf or Chicago Howard-Johnson as appropriate monikers for their offspring. In any event, I feel that we have enough in common that I can share my thoughts with you. By "enough in common", I mean that we are both female and we can both turn oxygen into carbon dioxide but, unfortunately, the similarities stop there because I'm doubtful if you've ever actually had an intelligent thought to share.
I, like many dog lovers the world over, was quite annoyed to hear that you have banished Tinkerbell from your life because she gained too much weight and grew to be a "plus size" female. This is an amazing accomplishment for a Chihuahua considering that that particular breed never really gets bigger than your average Cornish game hen. Your mother, Kathy, is now in possession of poor Tink, which I would imagine is what Nicole Richie felt like when she was passed on to Lindsay Lohan. You seem to dispose of human beings and canines alike when their body weight changes and they start dressing better than you. You were once quoted as saying that Tinkerbell had a more extensive wardrobe than you, which isn't too impressive considering that all of your clothes sewn together would barely make a tube top. Not to say that you enjoy baring as much cleavage, legs and butt crack as you possibly can, just that you are misunderstood in your artistic expression. Clearly, your Carl's Jr. commercial was a socio-political statement about the stereotypical inequalities inherent in the car washing industry.
What I found particularly offensive about your abandonment of Tinkerbell, was that Tinkerbell never abandoned YOU. She quivered through your many red carpet appearances, trembled through your premieres and vibrated through the endless barrage of paparazzi, all while being stuffed into last year's Louis Vuitton handbag. After suffering the indignity of wearing fuchsia taffeta during the Gay Pride parade this year, she deserved better. You decorate her like some canine Jackie Kennedy, with pillbox hats, opera gloves and pearls, dangle oh-so-cutesy bells from her collar and give her the name of a Disney fairy. If that isn't the human equivalent of a "KICK ME" sign on your back, then I don't know what is. She has quietly endured the humiliation of your scandalous sex tape, the train wreck that was Nick Carter and your current dalliance with another boy toy who has more money than sense. And all this loyalty and faithfulness was ignored and now this poor canine has to live in the vapid world of your mother, who had the gall to host a show entitled "I Want to be a Hilton". It would have been more wildly popular if it had been called "I Want to Smack a Hilton, Kick a Hilton in the Shins and Forcibly Make a Hilton Wear Off-the-Rack".
What I think you need, Miz Hilton, is a lesson in responsibility, which would be akin to teaching you nuclear physics. You are, after all, responsible for such things as cat fights with Shannon Doherty, your stellar performance in "House of Wax", your designer self-named perfume and your Mensa-inspired catch phrase "That's Hot". I was never quite sure if that was your brilliant opinion of something, or whether it was just your mom repeatedly warning you about the burners on your stove. Dogs are not disposable. They are not trends that come and go and they are definitely NOT accessories for your current outfit. They are a commitment and a member of your family. I understand that Tinkerbell swelled up to over 3.5 pounds, the equivalent of, say, your engagement ring. While I can appreciate that that added bulk of fat must have been very distressful, I doubt that little Tink would have discarded you because of a vanity issue. No, Tinkerbell would have been steadfastly loyal even if your roots started to show, your implants were removed or you had forsaken shaving your legs for three days.
So now you have acquired a new Chihuahua named Bambi. Your infatuation with cartoon character names may be construed as a slight Freudian interpretation of your depth, but I digress. I do hope that Bambi can bring you the happiness and satisfaction that Tinkerbell never could. Clearly, body image is essential in the canine world, as displayed by my own chocolate Lab, Newman, recently requesting an elliptical trainer and a Bowflex machine for his doghouse studio. He had BETTER keep his fat-to-muscle ratio intact or I will have no other alternative but to exchange him for a Greyhound.
In conclusion, thank you for allowing me to vent the frustration felt by your milli….I mean dozens…or rather, handful of fans here in Canada. Our thoughts and prayers are with Tinkerbell in her never-ending battle of the bulge and obvious addiction to baked goods. With the grace of God and perhaps the South Beach diet, perhaps she can once again reign supreme and regain her rightful place in your luggage.
Dee Clair
Calgary, Alberta
Dear Paris Hilton:
I have never really written a fan letter before and I am truly sort of embarrassed. Not because this is a fan letter, but because I'm writing someone whose name is a combination of an obnoxious city and a hotel chain. I've recommended this amalgamation to several of my pregnant girlfriends, but so far they have rejected Toronto Ramada, Denver Waldorf or Chicago Howard-Johnson as appropriate monikers for their offspring. In any event, I feel that we have enough in common that I can share my thoughts with you. By "enough in common", I mean that we are both female and we can both turn oxygen into carbon dioxide but, unfortunately, the similarities stop there because I'm doubtful if you've ever actually had an intelligent thought to share.
I, like many dog lovers the world over, was quite annoyed to hear that you have banished Tinkerbell from your life because she gained too much weight and grew to be a "plus size" female. This is an amazing accomplishment for a Chihuahua considering that that particular breed never really gets bigger than your average Cornish game hen. Your mother, Kathy, is now in possession of poor Tink, which I would imagine is what Nicole Richie felt like when she was passed on to Lindsay Lohan. You seem to dispose of human beings and canines alike when their body weight changes and they start dressing better than you. You were once quoted as saying that Tinkerbell had a more extensive wardrobe than you, which isn't too impressive considering that all of your clothes sewn together would barely make a tube top. Not to say that you enjoy baring as much cleavage, legs and butt crack as you possibly can, just that you are misunderstood in your artistic expression. Clearly, your Carl's Jr. commercial was a socio-political statement about the stereotypical inequalities inherent in the car washing industry.
What I found particularly offensive about your abandonment of Tinkerbell, was that Tinkerbell never abandoned YOU. She quivered through your many red carpet appearances, trembled through your premieres and vibrated through the endless barrage of paparazzi, all while being stuffed into last year's Louis Vuitton handbag. After suffering the indignity of wearing fuchsia taffeta during the Gay Pride parade this year, she deserved better. You decorate her like some canine Jackie Kennedy, with pillbox hats, opera gloves and pearls, dangle oh-so-cutesy bells from her collar and give her the name of a Disney fairy. If that isn't the human equivalent of a "KICK ME" sign on your back, then I don't know what is. She has quietly endured the humiliation of your scandalous sex tape, the train wreck that was Nick Carter and your current dalliance with another boy toy who has more money than sense. And all this loyalty and faithfulness was ignored and now this poor canine has to live in the vapid world of your mother, who had the gall to host a show entitled "I Want to be a Hilton". It would have been more wildly popular if it had been called "I Want to Smack a Hilton, Kick a Hilton in the Shins and Forcibly Make a Hilton Wear Off-the-Rack".
What I think you need, Miz Hilton, is a lesson in responsibility, which would be akin to teaching you nuclear physics. You are, after all, responsible for such things as cat fights with Shannon Doherty, your stellar performance in "House of Wax", your designer self-named perfume and your Mensa-inspired catch phrase "That's Hot". I was never quite sure if that was your brilliant opinion of something, or whether it was just your mom repeatedly warning you about the burners on your stove. Dogs are not disposable. They are not trends that come and go and they are definitely NOT accessories for your current outfit. They are a commitment and a member of your family. I understand that Tinkerbell swelled up to over 3.5 pounds, the equivalent of, say, your engagement ring. While I can appreciate that that added bulk of fat must have been very distressful, I doubt that little Tink would have discarded you because of a vanity issue. No, Tinkerbell would have been steadfastly loyal even if your roots started to show, your implants were removed or you had forsaken shaving your legs for three days.
So now you have acquired a new Chihuahua named Bambi. Your infatuation with cartoon character names may be construed as a slight Freudian interpretation of your depth, but I digress. I do hope that Bambi can bring you the happiness and satisfaction that Tinkerbell never could. Clearly, body image is essential in the canine world, as displayed by my own chocolate Lab, Newman, recently requesting an elliptical trainer and a Bowflex machine for his doghouse studio. He had BETTER keep his fat-to-muscle ratio intact or I will have no other alternative but to exchange him for a Greyhound.
In conclusion, thank you for allowing me to vent the frustration felt by your milli….I mean dozens…or rather, handful of fans here in Canada. Our thoughts and prayers are with Tinkerbell in her never-ending battle of the bulge and obvious addiction to baked goods. With the grace of God and perhaps the South Beach diet, perhaps she can once again reign supreme and regain her rightful place in your luggage.
Dee Clair
Calgary, Alberta