I’m in the audience on a television chat show and Paris Hilton is the guest. It’s a wacky kind of show normally, but the crowd goes wild as she walks onto the set. Things are thrown as a chorus of boos rings out.
The stupid cow is oblivious to it all as she starts rattling on about her new book. I remember the host asking her how hard it was to write a book with an IQ that classifies her as clinically dead. I also remember she got the name of the book wrong.
Then the games begin. For the first one the host reads out paragraphs of different autobiographies and she has to guess who wrote it. She got them all wrong including her own. And then the audience participation game starts and I’m the lucky audience member called down to play.
The game is simple. She gets asked a series of questions by the host. For every one she gets right I get £20 and for every one she gets wrong I’m allowed to slap her as hard as I can. It’s an obvious set up and the questions have been chosen by her. Unfortunately for her she chose questions she’s gotten wrong in interviews, probably to show her “intelligence” off. The trouble is, her original answers are the ones being used.
I’m slapping away until my hands are stinging. Then the audience starts throwing things down, starting with mundane items but then getting bizarre. Gigantic wrenches and oversized hammers are flying onto the stage. She’s a bloody pulp by the time it’s over. It was a beautiful dream.
By the way, have you seen how many results there are on Google for “Paris Hilton corpse”? All of them seem to be sculptures of it. Seems like a lot of people share my dream.