I've Seen London, I've Seen France

At one point in the not-to-distant past, I had been contemplating the creation of a "Paris or Porn Star" interwebthingie quiz of some sort—you know, a small picture of someone, and you'd have to guess if it was Paris Hilton or a porn star.

Recent events seem to have overtaken me, particularly in light of new evidence (the short version is that a millionaire heiress with attention issues set a new land speed record in her odyssey from debutante to porn star—and judging from her unrefined yet eager fellatio skills, finishing schools aren't what they used to be) and now the only answer to any such quiz would not be either/or but rather have to be an all-too-enthusiastic "Yes!"

What seems to be curious, though, are the raves lavished on Rick Solomon (or rather, a particular part of Rick), Paris' putative co-star: "[his penis], all things considered, appears to be his only somewhat redeemable quality"; "the guy was hot and had a really decent piece of equipment on him"; "surprisingly handsome ... Nicely hung, too."

What, my friend, is the real moral behind the story? Is it not to let your little girl grow up dressed like a slut? No, that can't be it, as I am told that dressing like a slut is the new black.

No, the real moral of the story is take your penis pills, because you'll never know when a 19-year-old millionaire heiress with a distressing exhibitionist streak and a night-vision video camera will show up in your bedroom, and when that grainy green tape makes national news, you will want the doyenne of internet gossip to be able to say, at the very least, "yeah, he's a scumbag, but he's a scumbag with an impressive penis" (or, in the vernacular, "he's a dick, but what a dick it is!").