First off, if you’re not watching My Life on the D-List, you’re missing out on one of the best shows on TV. Kathy Griffin is a comedic genius, just hands-down hilarious. In last night’s episode, she was trying to expand her fan base by getting in with “young Hollywood,” and, to do that, she went shopping with Paris Hilton.

This was all going reasonably well, with Paris being no more obnoxious than the absolute minimum we can expect from her (”Sorry, I just like to pose while I stand”), when Paris decides, with no leading on the part of Kathy, to weigh in on the very pressing issue of blow jobs: “I never do that. My mom always taught me, ‘Only ugly girls need to go down on their knees and do things like that.’” Ummmmm, really, Paris? (In case you couldn’t guess, that link is NSFW.)

Later in the show, Kathy asks how tall she is, and she says she’s 5′8″. I know that’s the standard party line for Paris’s height, but I’ve seen the girl in person without heels, and I have a really hard time believing she’s taller than I am (I’m 5′7″ … for reals). In fact, I have a hard time believing she’s taller than about 5′5″. I’ve stood next to Nicky on more than one occasion, and that girl’s exactly five feet tall, on a good day. If you look at pictures of Paris and Nicky next to each other, without shoes on, like this one, it’s pretty hard to believe that she’s that much taller than her sister.

And it brings us back to the time she told Larry King she’d never ever ever done drugs in her life, despite the countless leaked photos of her doing drugs. Why does this girl insist on publicly lying about things that can be easily proven to be lies? What sort of bizarre, narcissistic world does she live in where she can just say whatever and assume the whole world will believe it to be true despite tremendous evidence to the contrary? It is so annoying. Equally as annoying as the assumption that oral sex is for ugly people. Maybe, just maybe, it’s for people who actually care about finding multiple ways to pleasure their partner, because they have some sort of awareness that other people exist and have value. BUT YOU WOULDN’T KNOW ABOUT THAT, WOULD YOU, PARIS?

Priceless little quotes coming out of the AEG party at Club Nokia last night.

From Paris’s mother, Kathy Hilton:

“I think Paris needs to be with someone who is a bit more mature, older and has their own thing.”

And from her aunt, Kyle Richards, who’s definitely more of a famewhore than Kathy:

“The stories out there about our family not approving of their relationship are completely true. Doug was riding Paris’ coattails. The break-up affected me in a good way. It’s definitely time for Paris to move on.”

Oooh, I love it! I’m actually cackling to myself. I am rejoicing in Douche’s pain! Seriously I have had the worst PMS all day and I’ve been so grumpy but suddenly I am happy and all is well in the world again. I hope Kyle decides to extend this particular fifteen minutes a little further by dishing even more dirt about Paris and The Douche.

“Lindsay and Paris hate not being on the covers of weeklies.  That’s why Lindsay has been causing so much havoc and pulling these antics. And why Paris had a big blow- up with Doug [Reinhardt].”

An unnamed source discussing Paris’ and Lindsay’s displeasure with the fame whores better known as the Gosselin family.

I don’t know what troubles me the most about this video of Paris Hilton giving all her “fans” the grand tour of her closet — a space so vast that it could easily house about sixty Slumdog Millionaire child actors.

For one thing, I hate when grown women — women with careers and means of their own — get on video and start talking like little girls.  What is with that cutesy babydoll, head tilt thing so many women do?  It’s 2009 ladies!

Secondly, it frightens me that Paris is a self-proclaimed fashion designer and didn’t know that “this…uh…pattern,” is called ” uh…houndstooth.” 

Other than that, the vid is a fairly entertaining view of excess personified.  When a celebrity has a four-drawer tights dresser, it might be time to pare down. 

Oh, and if you can handle the seven “a lot” references that occur in the first couple minutes, it’s pretty priceless to see her talk about her “Oscar of the fragrance world” at 2:47.

… and it’s not Paris.

This post was originally titled “Cristiano Ronaldo Snogs a Skank in Las Vegas.” But the picture is a little grainy, so I can’t actually tell if he’s kissing this girl, or smelling her breath, or about to punch her in the face.

Could he be cheating on Paris? Is it possible to cheat on something that has had more penises in it than the bathroom at an all-boys preparatory school?

Contradicting reports that the douche is devastated and begging Paris to take him back, Doug Reinhardt has released a statement that I’m sure is completely true and is in no way a sad attempt to mollify his painfully damaged douche pride.

“Doug refuses to take part of this ridiculous media circus. He wishes Paris
and all of her future boyfriends the best of luck.” Guess he doesn’t think Ronaldo will be “The One?” And to add to it all, sources close to Doug told us, “Contrary to reports, Paris is begging him to take her back, she made a mistake and loves him 100%.”

100% minus the 70% that has had Ronoldo’s dick implanted in it over the last few days. Because we all know Paris Hilton is 70% vagina. I’m not sure what the other 30% is.

Expect to see more statements like this, followed by outlandish claims about all the chicks he’s supposedly banged, the size of his schlong, and lots and lots of Jager bombs.

This has to be a publicity stunt.  For the past few nights since her tragic breakup, Paris Hilton has been seen in various nightclubshanging out with Cristiano Ronoldo — he’s some hot soccer player — and there have been reports of them heading to Nicky Hilton’s home afterwards.  She cannot already have a new boyfriend.  There must be a 48-hour-waiting period between penises.  It’s a rule.

Here’s Paris with her sister, stumbling around outside MyHouse in Los Angeles last night.

I hope Paris finds “the one.”  You know, the guy that can accept her, genital warts and all.  (I take no credit for that.  Those words came directly out of the mouth of — gasp!– my mother.  You see where I get it from.)