Byline: SINCLAIR McKAY
bloggin' The socialite proves she's no airhead as she talks politics and receives an interesting invitation from Barack Obama, or so we'd like to believe...
Wednesday, 10.32am Yawn! Stretch. That dream was kewl. I was ... Whoa! Is this, like, morning? As in morning? Scream! I cannot be in a state of consciousness so early! Come on, guys, a celebutante luxury hotel heiress needs her beauty sleep! I do not leave this bed - check out these hand-woven Chinese silk sheets - until I am good and ready. Aww, look at my dog. Isn't she the cutest? Tinkerbell, you quit sitting in my purse and come to Momma! Look at you, you ... chihuahua.
You don't think Momma's an airhead, do you? Hey, it's that cellphone again. That's what woke me. Come on, guys, this is so totally like way off the scale.
It was a joke. OK? I do not really want to be President. Period.
2.18pm But I will not take it back.
John McCain is a cranky, whitehaired, potty-mouth, wrinkle-fest dude. Back in the old silent days, when he went out partying, there was no partying because it was prohibition. McCain said I have even less substance than Senator Obama. Yuh-huh.
Well, Mr Gallant, if you want a presidential debate, then you are soooo going to get one. You and your crocodile-smile wife.
Right? But my super-witty response has had unexpected repercussions. And yuh-huh - hearing me accidentally use four-syllable words like that has devastated my image.
2.58pm A message from my agent on my leopard-skin BlackBerry.
'Hilton, we have a problem,' it says. 'A paparazzo has seen you coming out of a bookshop with serious heavyweight reading matter. Divert immediately to next-door jewellery store and claim you misread the sign.' 3.11pm There is no sin in …