Things just have a habit of springing open around Paris Hilton, but this time, it wasn’t her legs: The haughty heiress walked out of her prison cell early this morning after serving only five days of her already-reduced 23-day sentence. The Big House was causing her mental distress, she claims, so Paris will instead return to her own big house and wear a kicky anklet for the next 40 days.
So what really happened? Until her hyped prison diary is somehow released, nobody will know which is why we are so fortunate to have uncovered some exclusive excerpts. After the jump, of course.
6 a.m.: It is so gross here, Diary. They gave me something called “a cavity search” without even buying me a cocktail.
6 p.m.: Ew. They just brought dinner to my cell, and my lawyer is totally a liar because it is so not the same thing as room service. There was a HOT DOG involved. I am going to refuse to eat. I’m totally going to be skinnier than Nicole when I get out of here. She’s going to be so pissed. It will be awesome.
3 p.m.: Some of the other girls in here are nice, Diary. Today in the yard during my hour of free time, the one they call “Nunchucks” told me she thought I had a pretty mouth.
11 p.m.: You know how, like, you always think of the perfect comeback a few hours too late? I totally did that. Instead of saying, “Are you a dude?,” which made one of the guards run over and drag me back to my cell, what I SHOULD have said to Nunchucks was, “You should see it with lip gloss. Now shut up and get me a martini.” HA HA! And people said Nicole was the funny one. WRONG. I am rad.
10 a.m.: I hate Nicky. I asked her to bake a file in a pie and she just laughed at me and called me dumb. But I need to deal with two broken nails. WHO’S DUMB NOW, HUH?
4 p.m.: I miss brushing my hair 200 times a day. Can you believe they won’t let me wear my extensions in here? Apparently, they’re “worried” someone might try and yank them out. I was all, “Like that doesn’t happen to me every night at Hyde,” but they totally wouldn’t listen.
2 p.m.: DUUUUUUUUUDE. The grossest thing just happened, Diary. I can’t even write it down, it’s so bad. I … I GREW HAIR. On my FACE, Diary. It’s just THERE. Over my eyeballs. I begged the guard to file it down, or shoot it, or something, but they wouldn’t! I CAN’T EVEN LOOK AT MYSELF in the reflection of the toilet water!
7 p.m.: I talked to Nunchucks in the yard today, and she told me that someone else told her that someone ELSE got out of here by pretending to have a total nervous breakdown, and I told HER that I could totally do that because I’ve so watched enough Lifetime Television for Women to know what they look like. So when I met with my lawyer today, I just looked all blank and acted the way Britney acted right before she shaved her head, and he got totally nervous and then I started drooling and he ran and got the guard. I am so out of here.
3 a.m.: And they said I couldn’t act. The Fug Girls