The Greatest Feud Story Ever Told – Lindsay Lohan vs. Paris Hilton

Now I’m going to talk about the feud between Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan; although I am fully aware that there is absolutely no good reason to do this. I’m not sure exactly why I write about such useless, tabloid crap; I don’t spend an inordinate amount of time sucking down this information otherwise. It’s as if commenting on Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton (or whoever) in a sarcastic manner will somehow make me smarter (though I know this logic is more fucked up than a breast flopping Lohan on Quaaludes). I guess I just find these stories humorous, and I know I’m not the only one.

PROLOGUE:

Upon scouring the web for the juiciest, ass-sloppy dirt on the Hilton/Lohan quarrel, I found that egotastic.com offered the greatest and latest muddy muck-muck on both Paris and Lindsay (more specifically: they laid out the battle in a nice sequenced format). So egotistic.com became my textbook and I am now confident that I am a minor expert in Hilton-Lohanian Dynamics as set in the American Celebrity Sub-Culture. This is my story:

CHAPTER ONE:

So there’s this hot spot celebrity nightclub called Hyde (like as in “Jekyll and”- I guess) in Hollywood. Apparently this place is pretty awesome, though I’ve never been (I’ve never been to L.A., or California for that matter- or away from the east coast for that matter’s matter). Needless to say, I don’t know Lindsay Lohan or Paris Hilton personally, but I am, however, familiar with their work. Lohan, of course, is most famous for her work in “The Parent Trap” (a Disney movie she made with her now deceased twin sister, I believe her name was Betty Lou Lohan). And you all know Paris Hilton from the dirty gentlemen movie “One Night in Paris” (It’s literally set IN Paris- and they don’t mean the capital city of France).

Well, these two young ladies had a disagreement in that nightclub on May 12th and things allegedly (you always have to say allegedly when you talk about these things, because anything not on tape actually never happened, ever) got pretty crazy (read: nearly violent). I can’t imagine what they were arguing over, because it seems to me they both have pretty nice lives and they should be happy with what they already have. Frankly, there is really no evidence as to what caused the fight in the first place (a fact that I find both sad and droll), but nonetheless it’s become quite clear that they don’t like each other.

CHAPTER TWO:

Chapter Two of the Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton saga (I think saga is the right word) involves Hilton friend and oil heir Brandon Davis. The only difference between Davis and Hilton, other than a penis, is that Paris is actually smarter (otherwise they are essentially the same person). The only (theoretical) difference between oil heirs and hotel heirs is a slight discrepancy is the level of substance dependency (oil heirs need more vodka to make it through the day).

With that said, Brandon Davis is a spineless schmuck who should’ve never been born. In between club stops on a raucous night on the town with Paris, Davis decided to tell a camera crew (and subsequently, Planet Earth) what HE thought of Lindsay Lohan (because somehow in his cloudy, oil-heir-mind he thought that it was imperative to share such information). The following are actual quotes from the video made my Davis:

-“Her clitoris is seven feet long. She has a firecrotch. Her vagina smells like diarrhea.”
-“I think she’s worth about seven million (dollars), which means she’s really poor. It’s disgusting. She lives in a motel.”
-(On Wilmer Valderrama) “Is he in a mariachi band?”

Somewhere (alive or dead) there are parents. There are parents that gave birth to things like Brandon Davis; there are also grandparents and great grandparents. I can’t (and won’t) believe for a second that at least some of these men and women lacked any of shred of dignity like young Mr. Davis. Maybe oil billionaire Marvin Davis (Brandon’s grandfather) was an asshole too; maybe it’s a genetic thing. But at some point in the bloodline there had to have been somebody with integrity, right? There had to have been some hard work done. I need to believe this.

Because if that’s not true, then we’re all screwed; and I’m fucking moving to another country.

CHAPTER THREE:

Things take a turn for the better (I think) when Lindsay Lohan is spotted making out with Stavros Niarchos. Who is Niarchos? He’s just the latest ex-boyfriend of one Paris Hilton. This move by Lohan is sure to totally piss off Paris, in theory, although I’m not sure if I get the logic. In my day, if somebody did you wrong you put a flaming bag of poop their front steps, rang the door bell and laughed like hell. Now I guess you have to make out with their Greek ex’s (I don’t know if that dude’s actually Greek, but I didn’t feel like checking).

In other news, egotistic.com posted something (fairly) unrelated to the feud about Brandon Davis that I found interesting:

“Davis, the grandson of oil billionaire Marvin Davis and former boyfriend of Mischa Barton, told the National Enquirer that he was no longer associating with Hilton because she is a racist. “She was forever using the N-word,” Davis said at the time. “I told her not to use it. It was offensive. But she just laughed. She is racist plus an idiot.” He added that Hilton, his friend since childhood, also “puts down Jews and other minorities, too, and I’m Jewish. I found it depressing.””

I won’t comment on that stuff (in many ways I can’t). I don’t want to sound like a broken record. Hypocrisy is a God to these people (I guess)

CHAPTER FOUR:

There are three major developments in this my fourth and final chapter.

1.Brandon Davis apologized (maybe)
2.Lindsay Lohan and Stavros Niarchos are getting like, really serious
3.A Lohan fan confronts Davis at some club

Davis allegedly told BFF Joe Francis (the boss and owner of the “Girls Gone Wild” franchise) that he called Lohan to apologize for his public outburst (but this can’t be substantiated, thus it never happened). As for Lohan and Niarchose they’ve been kissing and holding hands all over Los Angeles (I think they’re getting married). Oh, and this Lohan fan, some Hollywood nobody, started yelling at Davis from behind the velvet ropes of club, stuff like, “at least Lindsay makes her money and doesn’t get it from daddy.” That, I have to admit, is a very valid point.

EPILOGUE:

I’m glad to be done with this article. That was fucking taxing. By the end of chapter three I felt like killing myself (could you tell?). I guess the morale of my story is this (and forgive me if I go off on a fucking sideways tangent here): These people (Lohan, Paris, Davis, the Greek dude) are different than me and you. This is why I like to think of them as robots from the future. Their behavior seems so silly and wrong, and we’re jealous and we all kind of hate them when we’re not totally admiring them; it’s almost like they’re robots from the future. They’re robots because they’re not real and, in my mind, they’re from future America (which is now totally communist). Only it’s a different kind of communism, nobody has any money but they think they’re incredibly rich. So, in this future, everybody acts like a snob and an idiot and is mean to everybody else, but that’s normal. Nobody has anything, so acting that way makes everybody feel good about themselves. Alcohol is free, it’s provided by the government, so everyone’s drunk, and because they’re all drunk they say ridiculous things full of hate; these things are the new jokes. The meanest people are actually the funniest. And because everyone is actually a robot, there is no way to personalize anything that anybody says or does because no one is actually alive.

This is how I like to think about it.