What do you get the socialite hotel chain heiress who has everything? How about a big, stupid cock in her pudgy little butterface? The Paris Hilton sex tape of 2003 was little more than your standard three-pronged fuck 'n' suck: missionary, doggy-style and a blowjob. The entire feature weighs in at a scant two minutes and fifty-sex seconds, operating in near dismal conformity with Lars von Trier's Dogma treatise on moment-by-moment filmmaking. The handheld camera is unmistakably "on location," there is no superficial action or geographical alienation, all sound effects are produced in real-time collaboration with the images, and the primary director disavowed any immediate accreditation.
The tape has been seen, screened, and lampooned on The Daily Show and Saturday Night Live -- but even to this day, more people have actually sat down to watch her insipid Fox series The Simple Life than the sex tape itself. The actual reasons for this upsidedown ratio are beyond the scope of this article, and must remain unexplored. But here's a girl who's chosen to spend her allowance on ways that don't benefit mankind, that don't create appealing business ventures or accomplish anything constructive. Gone are the days where being a student of the "upper class" meant facilitating a lifestyle meant to be envied or emulated by others. Instead, the world is watching Paris insinuate her noisy, shopworn caboose into just about every unnecessary public venue conceivable: modeling, acting, singing, television, fashion, jewelry, and amateur pornography. While she spreads herself thinner than the flimsy premise of her television program ("let's laugh at the poor people by pretending they're too icky to touch") Paris's porno bid contains no more extracurricular puss-puss than what she flashes at the paparazzi on a regular basis.
The only thing unusual about the Paris Hilton sex tape is that looks like it was shot at the Motel 6 in Shitsville, New Mexico. It's a straight-to-video public relations ploy which raises neither controversial questions nor spontaneous erections. Paris appears sober and compliant throughout, although her family claims she may have been drugged.
When the "scandal" broke, it quickly came to light that Paris's porn director and co-star was none other than Richard Salomon, an independent movie producer and online gambling entrepreneur. He's also the ex-boyfriend of Devon Aoki (model and heiress to the Benihana restaurant fortune) and estranged husband of Charmed actress Shannen Doherty. At first glance, the Sony Digicam infrared nightvision green makes Salomon look as though he wields an ample, larger-than-life dick, until you realize Paris's hands are abnormally waifish in size and shape, like those of Cruella DeVille. Salomon's cock has since been described as "nothing to write home about." When rumors of the tape first surfaced, Hilton denied its existence, calling Salomon "a complete liar and scumbag" in New York magazine, but she was later forced to backpedal after it become obvious the video was real.
As suddenly as the tape begins, it screeches to a close. Paris dispenses less than twenty seconds of below-average blowjobbery, much of which is technically incompetent and more artistically bankrupt than Pamela Anderson's half-hearted performance upon Tommy Lee. Paris's hand remains indignantly clamped around Salomon's Viagra-induced erection, her lips flail (but fail) to fellate more than an inch beyond the tip of his dick. She licks it stupidly, like a home-grown amateur creampuff staring off into empty space as the camera fades mercifully to black. There is no happy finish, no climax, no splashy ejaculatory parade against her face, into her hair or down her neck.
Richard Salomon has filed a $10 million slander lawsuit against Hilton, asserting that she was in fact an active participant in making the video, alleging that the Hilton family has waged a "cold, calculated and malicious campaign to portray Salomon as a rapist." Hilton's lawyers are threatening legal action against anyone who distributes the tape or fails to destroy their copy of it, but purported snippets have been offered on eBay. Meanwhile, at high-class parties in New York, Las Vegas and Los Angeles, Paris Hilton remains the target of a very specific socialite indulgence. It's a game called Dump Your Drink On Paris, the object of which is to spot Paris at a party, "trip" next to her and splash the full contents of your Cape Cod across her expensive evening gown. The lighter the color of her fabric, and the darker the indelible fruit juice of your drink, the better. If ice cubes go down the back of her dress, you score double.
"The Hilton family is greatly saddened at how low human beings will stoop to exploit their daughter, Paris, who is sweet-natured, for their own self-promotion as well as profit motives," read a statement released by the family. Funny how Paris Hilton's sister Nicky no longer seems interested in courting the public. Where'd she get off to, anyway?
Shot by shot: here's a distilled, tastefully blacked-out breakdown of the video, partially censored by only the finest Rotten Dot Com stickers being manufactured to date. We start from frame 00:00:00:00 and end with frame 00:02:56:00. The following display is meant merely to edutain, infotate, and encourage the avoidance of unpleasant legal action items. There are two other central characters in this video: cellular telephone caller "Fred," and a pay-per-view television program which remains audible throughout the entire romp. Your reaction will likely fall somewhere between a yawn and a dismissive sigh. This is what E! Entertainment News calls a scandal?
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