In case you missed it in print today, here's what we imagine Paris the jailbird is writing in her diary:

Dear Diary: What’s up? I’m OK. I mean, for being in jail and all. My first day was so not hot. The other inmates kept laughing at me, and one of them made a sex-tape joke. That’s so 2003.

I can’t believe my attorneys insisted on sneaking me in here without one last photo op. That red carpet at the movie awards was so not enough exposure, and then that brunette girl onstage made fun of me during the show. Sarah Winkleman or something like that. So what? I’m way cuter than her. She has flabby arms.

Plus, her joke about prison bars painted like penises? Right, like you could really make bars look like that. I checked as soon as I got here, and there’s no way. So, like, whatever.

Gotta run. There’s a big girl named Erma who says she’s gonna butter my bread. Thank goodness. I’m starving.

xoxo
Paris