Celebrity stalking fun!

So I don't know if you've picked up that between the punting in Oxford, trips to Bath and Cheltenham, and getting occasionally slaughtered here in London town, I haven't had much to do lately. The last couple of days have seen me invigilating (read: supervising) at some exams as a temping job, which has got to be one of the most boring jobs ever, while I wait for my Home Office clearance. But when I'm not living the hedonistic lifestyle of an (almost) late twenties librarian newly arrived to London (I know, I'm sooo adventurous!), I spend a great deal of time with my dearly resurrected lappy, checking out our favourite websites and generally enjoying one of my favourite activities: celebrity stalking.
Granted, I've never actually stalked a celebrity, and don't really care to do it in person (hiding in bushes and going through rubbish are yet to make an appearance in my personal rendition of "Raindrops on Roses"), but I love, love, love that the Internet makes it so easy for me to do it from afar. I won't regurgitate the snarkily presented news gossip that you can amuse yourself for hours with at this great site, however I will direct your attention to a particularly disturbing piece of media I came across here:
Paris Hilton has made a video.
Unlike the more famous Paris Hilton video, it does not involve her having relations with Brenda's ex-husband, but rather - and I use this word in the loosest possible sense - singing along to a backing track of what I can only assume is her own voice and, I dearly hope, her own lyrics. I hesitate to watch this video too often, as I'm sure the annoying "reggae-inspired" backbeat will get lodged in my cerebral cortex and cause a tumour later in life, but I'm sure many analyses of the lyrics will appear on the web in a very short time.
With gold such as "I don't find too many guys/ that treat me like you do/ those other guys all wanna take me for a ride/ but when I walk they talk of suicide", I'm sure there will be dissertations on it coming out of pop culture courses in no time. I predict that a particularly enthusiastic psych major will endeavour to prove the link between being dumped by Paris Hilton and the recent rash (no pun intended) of C and D-list celebrity male suicides.
Another line: "if you show me real love baby/ I'll show you mine" demonstrates to me Paris' pure ironic genius. Personally I've never met Paris, I've certainly endeavoured on a daily bases to not show her any real love, and I've seen hers more times than I can count.
But the truly wonderful thing about this video is the dancing. If it wasn't so obviously comprised of her best drunken dance moves and she wasn't so obviously in love with herself it'd almost be sweet, as there's an element of lusty-teenage-girl-dancing-in-her-underwear-in-front-of-the-mirror-with-a-KenDoll to her "choreography" (I never realised how talented Britney was until I watched this video. Respeck, Spears).
Now I believe, thanks to this video, that the old adage is true: I will never forget Paris. No matter how much binge drinking I may do to try and wipe her from my mind, she's now there for good.
Librarian, with scarred retinas, out.