Heir-heads Forget the carnage in Iraq. Forget the abuses at Gitmo. Forget the slaughter in Darfur. Forget the eight-trillion dollar national debt. Forget the real estate bubble Alan Greenspan devotes his every waking hour to keep from popping. Rupert Murdoch, Viacom, and various other media giants want us to know that hotel brat Paris Hilton is engaged to Greek shipping brat Paris Latsis. Let the debate begin. Who will commit adultery first—Paris or Paris? My money’s on Paris. Who will commit adultery more often? My money’s on Paris. Who will bring less sincerity, fortitude, and maturity to the altar? My money’s on Paris. Who will sell the honeymoon sex video? My money’s on eBay. Which will last longer—the marriage or the reality series? My money’s on the reality series. Call it Who Wants to Marry an Heir-head. Go figure. Gay marriage is a political hot potato, but this thing is perfectly legal. What could marriage possibly mean to someone like Paris—hooking up with strangers on weeknights only? Any day now we’re going to have to hear about how Paris is a born-again virgin. Born yesterday is more like it. Let’s hope the day before the wedding, at least one Paris pulls a Jennifer Wilbanks. You’ve heard of the runaway bride. Now there’s the throwaway couple, with throwaway vows. At the ceremony, they might as well just read the prenup. This particular prenup allows both Paris and Paris to keep the STDs they brought to the relationship. Which raises the question—what do you get the couple who has everything? Penicillin. As a team, the one gift Paris-squared can give back to this world is no offspring. The baby can be only what the marriage is—a publicity stunt. And at least the marriage can be annulled. If there are offspring—God and summer fashion forbid—we will be subjected to endless messy details of postpartum plastic surgery, and really, who gives a tuck? If Paris wants to experience the joys of being with child, she should do what any self-disrespecting, attention seeking trailer trash would do—become a surrogate mother for Michael Jackson. Set your Rolex to their inevitable appearance on COPS, where the Paris twins will end up coked out of their heads, half-naked, and spread-eagle on the hood of a police car. You have the right to remain stupid. Anything you say or do may be used against you on E! Who will look more battered? My money’s on Paris. It might actually win Paris some sympathy. It worked for David Gest. That’s hot. For better or for worse? I say for ratings. Like many married couples, my wife and I choose not to remain in any club that would have Paris as a member. We’ll still live together, but you gotta draw the line somewhere. Funny thing—marriage is in right now, at least for celebrities with no one out there left to bang. But this too shall pass, and when it does, Paris-squared will be calling Raul Felder. Then, by the mercy of heaven, Paris and Paris will go their separate ways. Unfortunately, we’ll always have Paris. Click here to rant back. |