(We welcome back former boxing promoter Dawn King to introduce the first in a series of celebrity profiles here on starcasm.net. We hope to eventually build up a library of some of the most talked about celebrities so those previously high-minded individuals that have caved in and wish to know what everyone at work is talking about can catch up)
Unexplainably, this young lady I’m about to introduce is no stranger to anyone with a television, the internet, or a magazine subscription.
She is an air headed, never wedded, legs always spreaded, reality show starrin’, Nicole Richie sparrin’, always in a barrin’, has to flaunt, child-actor star for an aunt, mighty gaunt, jet-settin’, rock star gettin’ celebutant.
She’s got spunk, probably funk, and not a lot of junk in the trunk.
She’s got reality shows, best friend hos, fancy clothes, home-made pornos, and a million six packs of Rich Proseccos.
There’s just no stoppin’ this club hoppin’, panty droppin’, can of champagne poppin’, addicted to shoppin’, in the bed hoppin’, comfortable on bottom or on toppin’, movie music and book chart floppin’ little miss anti-Mary Poppin.
She’s had more riders than Space Mountain.
She’s been past third base more times than Babe Ruth.
Her name is on more bad products than China.
She put the “ho” in hotel.
Weighing in at 114 pounds when wet, and the reigning featherweight trampion of the world!
Miss PARIS HILTON!