TMZ reports that Paris Hilton is putting the word out that she and Posh Spice should be friends – soul mates even – obviously because she’s identified that Posh has clout and she wants to latch on and suckle on the publicity.
Apart from everything else, in order to be soul mates with someone, don’t you have to actually maintain possession of a soul? It would seem the Paris traded that off for free bags, lipgloss and strip mall frozen yoghurt ages ago. If she hitched her soul up to Posh’s then it’s highly likely that Posh would eventually become even more shrink wrapped than she already is.
Lucky for everyone everywhere (probably forever) Posh is employing the elitest English bluntness popularity technique she used when talking with the LA Times earlier this week and when not smiling to the LA paparazzi upon exiting a restaurant with her husband and has allegedly responded by saying:
"Over my dead body!" she hissed to a friend. We couldn't be more different. You won't catch me falling out of nightclubs with no knickers on."
The part of this that’s so great isn’t actually that Paris Hilton gets the slap down from a skeletal classless chav who is actually solidifying further her rapidly inflating public profile. No, it’s actually the fact that you know Posh sat there with her bitchy, pudgy, pasty but fake tanned girlfriends holding court while they all sat there on a worn out red velvet couch wearing three gold rings each packed with 4 chunky cut glass diamonds on each finger and matching skin tight black glittered cat suits that exemplified bodies topped off with heavily greased hair that had been styled in a way that should only really ever be carried off by a large black woman from Harlem.
If only Posh ate she would do well to actually simply eat Paris Hilton. She could eat a heavily marinated, spit roasted Paris. Then the usurping would be complete and we could all go back to normal. [source]