Paris, sweet ParisSay what you will about Paris Hilton, but it can’t be denied that she commands attention… and apparently obedience.

Just look at the expression on that interviewer’s face, he’s completely transfixed.

Paris: You will do my bidding for evermore.
Guy: I...will...do your bidding...for evermore
Paris: That’s hot

Then there’s the guy over her right shoulder, next in line to ask his dumb questions. He knows what’s coming. He’s smart. He’s self aware. And all he can think to himself is, “I’m about to be Paris Hilton’s bitch… I went to Columbia for chrissakes and I’m about to ask Paris Hilton who’s dress she’s wearing,”.

I don’t care what the haters say, she’s beautiful. If she showed up at your house to install your cable, you’d think you were suddenly in the middle of a porno film. If she was some regular girl you and your buddies saw at a bar, you’d be too scared to go up to her and give some lame-ass excuse like “I’m just not feeling it, bro. She’s prolly a bitch anyway.”

Also, did you know she was rich?

Here in Hollywood, people are falling all over themselves to be an extra on Grey’s Anatomy. People are quitting their jobs at a daycare in Iowa for the chance to be a corpse covered with a sheet in the background of a pan shot between one main character’s face and another. Yet here’s Paris, at a level of fame that’s nearly unparalleled, famous for… being Paris.

You’ve got to respect that.

She somehow parlayed doing what we all wish we could do (namely nothing sprinkled with the occasional party) into a hit TV show, modeling contracts, commercials, a catchphrase, and the like. Isn’t that friggin’ amazing?

The Paris is dead, long live the Paris.

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