— Fiction —

Paris Hilton Writes to Governor Schwarzenegger from Jail

Dear Governor Schwarzenegger,

I write to you in my darkest hour hoping that you will be inspired to do the right thing. As a fellow celebrity, you should know what it’s like to be persecuted because you are famous, and, in my case, hot. It is important to me that you know I’m writing this letter in my own words, not my publicist’s, so that we can understand each other celeb to celeb. But for the record, denying jailed celebrities access to their publicists is a human rights violation, according to my publicist.

Although, in some ways it shouldn’t even matter that this letter is from me. Because this is about justice, and truth, and beauty, and freedom, and love, and the American Dream. In some ways, I’d rather you forget all about Paris Hilton. I’d rather you pretend that this could be from any kind-hearted, super busy young woman whose parents were at your daughter’s graduation last week.

I am typing this letter on the laptop of my cellmate, Jennifer Carmichael, because this was all taking way too long to text message. By the way, you should totally pardon Jenny and set her free too. All she did was embezzle like a hundred grand from the investment bank where she worked. Look, I realize that’s a serious crime, but so is downloading free music online and we don’t send everyone ever born in the history of the world to jail. Plus a hundred grand isn’t even enough to buy a decent car these days. I’m just saying, does it really seem like a criminal-type crime to you? Besides she’s actually a really great girl. She went to Yale and everything, which, I’m pretty sure, is where you went too. Wait, I forgot you’re Australian. I’m not sure if they have a Yale in Australia. I guess you guys will just have to meet up and figure it out over a couple of cosmos sometime.

Anyway, if I don’t get out of here soon I don’t know what I’m going to do. Tinkerbell must be freaking out. I mean, Margarita is totally feeding her and all. But I just thought of something today. Who’s feeding Margarita? I certainly didn’t remember to leave any money or food out for her. Listen, if you could send some National Guard people to check on Margarita, that would rock.

See, if Margarita starves to death, then Tinkerbell is going to go hungry. And when Tinkerbell goes hungry, she starts eating mothballs and chewing on my shoes. Well let me tell you, if Tinkerbell chokes on a pair of my Jimmy Choos, then I’m going to sue Jimmy AND the people who make dogs, and I’d seriously hate to put America through that. Especially while we’re in the middle of a war against the Middle East.

Which brings me to my other point. I was supposed to do a photo shoot for MoveOn.Org next week. I was going to be the face of their new “Bring the Troops Home” campaign. So if I can’t make it, and even one more batch of troops dies over there, then its blood on the hands of the State of California.

But perhaps even more importantly, I was planning on giving a bunch of money to AIDS. Well, here’s the thing: if you all don’t let me out, then I’m not going to. I know I’m starting to sound desperate, but I am desperate. All right, fine, I’d never really thought about AIDS, or giving money to it, before I came here. But now I really care about it. I hope nobody ever dies of AIDS again. Especially not me.

It’s just that you can’t not think about it in here. It’s so dirty everywhere; people are probably getting it all the time. I think I’ve had it a couple of times since I’ve been in here. Last Saturday night I even skipped movie night in the Rec Room because I had a temperature of like 98 degrees and was coughing up God knows what. So what I’m saying is, if you let me out now I’ll donate all the money from the June sales of my Paris Allure perfume line to help AIDS.

Look, I could go on forever about AIDS, and the War against 9/11, and starvation, and all the other tragic tragedies that are super serious in this country, but quite frankly neither of us has time for small talk. To be honest, Arnie, I think it’s time we quit playing games. Despite what I said earlier, both of us know that this letter is definitely from me, not just some random girl. It’s time we stopped playing charades, stopped dancing around the issue, and also stopped playing musical chairs and Pictionary.

The bottom line is this: I’m America’s Heiress and the people need me. I shouldn’t be locked away in a cage like some street person. I should be out in the world letting my light shine bright. After all, I provide an important service to the American people. I give them a glimpse of what their lives would be like if they weren’t so sad and miserable. I give them a life affirming peak at what life might be like if they were hot and rich instead of poor and not that good looking. Sure I know that’s not the same as inventing world peace or curing AIDS (which, don’t forget, I’m totally going to help do). But I think it’s pretty damn important. And I don’t expect to be thanked for it. I just expect you to let me out of jail for it.

A Thousand Hugs and Kisses,
Paris Whitney Hilton

P.S. I’ve always loved Rocky!