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