Paris Hilton Sings...
Someone Snatch Tinkerbell Before She Records A Song!
So, I'm awake...and it's awfully friggin' early. Problematic? Why, yes, especially if you take into consideration that I am once again not getting enough sleep thanks to the ever rising temperatures and humidity and the fact that I'll need to at least be awake until like 10pm (current time...5:23 am) after having already been awake most of last night thanks to hubby sleep-ranting and thrashing about (he is also not sleeping well thanks to the weather) but ultimately not my biggest issue at the moment.
I turned on VH1, which is generally the course of things even when my eyes weren't pried open by the blinding light of my hubby turning on every switch he could find, madly searching the house for his Treo. His entire existence is in this device and he cannot function without it..or me. It's one of these things where I remind him to breath and the Treo reminds him to call me. There's a system in place folks and it's not to be tampered with. Regardless, I was basically aggravated awake to begin with.
I turned on VH1, for some reason with Fort Minor's 'Where'd You Go' (very nearly the most depressing song one can expect to hear first thing in the morning...Thank you VH1 for single handedly raising the suicide rate by usually playing this song back to back with Blue October's 'Hate Me' which is now as I like to call it the suicide anthem of 2006) already in my head, but alas, there was no Mike Shinoda/Holly Brook assault combo lulling me to tears. There wasn't even any sign of them, nor was there a whored out Nelly Furtado singing when instead she should have just spread her legs and filmed that for three or for minutes with the 1812 Overture playing in the background.
Instead, the very first thing I see is Paris Hilton, in black and white covered in sand and rolling around on a half naked man. At first I thought she had another porn video floating around and then for a moment wondered when VH1 started playing porn (I had this very same reaction last night when I saw Sci-Fi playing ECW wrestling). I gave this up around the time Nelly Furtado came to mind again. Alas, it was a music video...Paris Hilton's music video...and now, my brain hurts.
If you overlook the fact that Ms. Hilton is well, quite frankly, more suited for porn and on a good day, the mere act of her speaking is reminiscent of a chihuahua caught in a vaccum...with it's nostrils stapled shut...and the fact that her about to be a one-hit-wonder video is so clearly a blatant rip-off of Chris Isaak's 'Wicked Game' video, the song was just not that bad. It's sort of catching in the same way as famous hits of yor, like 'The Macarena' or The Children of the Damned's, er, Hanson's 'Mmm Bop' or even Pat Boone covering 'Crazy Train'.
So, Paris Hilton sings...or at least went into a recording studio and made some kind of noise they were able to clean up enough to call singing. If I had to guess, I'd say it was possible that it was actually Paris in the studio squeezing poor, little Tinkerbell forcing her to make squealing sounds into the microphone which were then fed into one of those SETI computers and turned into what sounds like singing. Either that or Ms. Hilton paid some loser who used to be on The MMC (someone who's daily life involves acts if voodoo against people like Justin & Britney) to sing for her in a Milli Vanilli sort of scenario.
So, I'm awake...and it's awfully friggin' early. Problematic? Why, yes, especially if you take into consideration that I am once again not getting enough sleep thanks to the ever rising temperatures and humidity and the fact that I'll need to at least be awake until like 10pm (current time...5:23 am) after having already been awake most of last night thanks to hubby sleep-ranting and thrashing about (he is also not sleeping well thanks to the weather) but ultimately not my biggest issue at the moment.
I turned on VH1, which is generally the course of things even when my eyes weren't pried open by the blinding light of my hubby turning on every switch he could find, madly searching the house for his Treo. His entire existence is in this device and he cannot function without it..or me. It's one of these things where I remind him to breath and the Treo reminds him to call me. There's a system in place folks and it's not to be tampered with. Regardless, I was basically aggravated awake to begin with.
I turned on VH1, for some reason with Fort Minor's 'Where'd You Go' (very nearly the most depressing song one can expect to hear first thing in the morning...Thank you VH1 for single handedly raising the suicide rate by usually playing this song back to back with Blue October's 'Hate Me' which is now as I like to call it the suicide anthem of 2006) already in my head, but alas, there was no Mike Shinoda/Holly Brook assault combo lulling me to tears. There wasn't even any sign of them, nor was there a whored out Nelly Furtado singing when instead she should have just spread her legs and filmed that for three or for minutes with the 1812 Overture playing in the background.
Instead, the very first thing I see is Paris Hilton, in black and white covered in sand and rolling around on a half naked man. At first I thought she had another porn video floating around and then for a moment wondered when VH1 started playing porn (I had this very same reaction last night when I saw Sci-Fi playing ECW wrestling). I gave this up around the time Nelly Furtado came to mind again. Alas, it was a music video...Paris Hilton's music video...and now, my brain hurts.
If you overlook the fact that Ms. Hilton is well, quite frankly, more suited for porn and on a good day, the mere act of her speaking is reminiscent of a chihuahua caught in a vaccum...with it's nostrils stapled shut...and the fact that her about to be a one-hit-wonder video is so clearly a blatant rip-off of Chris Isaak's 'Wicked Game' video, the song was just not that bad. It's sort of catching in the same way as famous hits of yor, like 'The Macarena' or The Children of the Damned's, er, Hanson's 'Mmm Bop' or even Pat Boone covering 'Crazy Train'.
So, Paris Hilton sings...or at least went into a recording studio and made some kind of noise they were able to clean up enough to call singing. If I had to guess, I'd say it was possible that it was actually Paris in the studio squeezing poor, little Tinkerbell forcing her to make squealing sounds into the microphone which were then fed into one of those SETI computers and turned into what sounds like singing. Either that or Ms. Hilton paid some loser who used to be on The MMC (someone who's daily life involves acts if voodoo against people like Justin & Britney) to sing for her in a Milli Vanilli sort of scenario.
This just goes to show that if you have enough money, a good engineer and have seen at least one music video from the early 90's, you too can record a song and find one-hit wonder fame (not that she needed it). Quick! Somebody get Jack Wagner to record another album!
posted by IvoryValentine at 5:23 AM
1 Comments:
hAHA!
If beings like Tinkerbell are mortal, then she must have died when Paris tried to coax sounds from her none too gently... or when she found out about Paris' video.
About Furtado, "whored out" is exactly what she is now. I was surprised to see her video and she doing an impression of a gyrating machine (such exists? dont know!)
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