Forget Paris

Apparently, hackers were able to access Paris Hilton's online T-Mobile over the weekend, posting her phone book, nude phone pics (of herself, strangely) and email messages for public consumption by successfully guessing the answer to a secret access question. That question: "What is the name of your favorite pet?"

The answer, for anyone who not dumb enough to be the subject of a series of unauthorized personal sex tapes and public gaffes, is Tinkerbell, Hilton's well-known chihuahua co-star of Fox's "The Simple Life" along with that other dog, Nicole Ritchie.

Now, I might take this time to implore all you kind folks to ignore this fame-whore train wreck waterhead and provide her with the obscurity she deserves. But I doubt there is honestly any way to ignore such a spectacular disaster. Paris Hilton is the reason traffic slows in the opposite direction of a highway accident. She is a boon to those with low-self esteem everywhere who can now compare themselves favorably. The is an easy punchline for hack comics. She is whacking material for the downtrodden, celeb-fantasizing misfits (and celeb-fantasizing folks who fit in just fine but are alone and horny).

And for some reason, Playboy magazine sees fit to crown her "Sex Star of the Year." Something that would be more of a tragedy if their list didn't also include such confounding, typically self-serving Playboy retreads as Jenny McCarthy and Pam Anderson.

So what is there to say about someone so pathetic, so hypnotically, inexplicably celebrated for being vapid and borderline retarded? Only this: Where have you gone Britney Spears, a nation turns its horny eyes to you...