Dear Diary

This entry was mentally written prior to Miss Hilton's recent return to the pokey. It was originally titled:
"Being Behind Bars Does Not Mean Being a Bartender"
Things just have a habit of springing open around Paris Hilton, but this time, it wasn't her legs: The haughty heiress walked out of her prison cell after serving only five days of her already-reduced 23 day sentence. The Big House was causing her mental distress, she claims, so Paris will return to her own big house and wear a kicky anklet for the next 40 days. So what really happened? Until her hyped prison diary is somehow released, nobody will know-which is why I am so fortunate to have uncovered some exclusive excerpts:
Day One
6 AM: It's so gross here, Diary. They gave me something called a "cavity search" without even buying me a cocktail.
6 PM: Ew. They just bought dinner to my cell, and my lawyer is totally a liar because it is so not the same thing as room service. There was a HOT DOG involved. I am going to refuse to eat. I'm totally going to be skinnier than Nicole when I get out of here. She's going to be so pissed. It will be awesome.
Day Two
3 PM: Some of the other girls in here are nice, Diary. Today in the yard during my hour of free time, the one they call "Nunchucks" told me she thought I had a pretty mouth.
11 PM: You know how, like, you always think of the perfect comeback a few hours too late? I totally did that. Instead of saying, "Are you a dude?", which made one of the guards run over and drag me back to my cell, what I SHOULD have said to Nunchucks was, "You should see it with lip gloss. Now shut up and get me a martini." Ha Ha! And people said Nicole was the funny one. WRONG. I am rad.
Day Three
10 AM: I hate Nicky. I asked her to bake a file in a pie and she just laughed at me and called me dumb. But I need to deal with two broken nails. WHO'S DUMB NOW, HUH?
4 PM: I miss brushing my hair 200 times a day. Can you believe they won't let me wear my extensions in here? Apparently, they are "worried" that someone might try to yank them out. I was all, "Like that doesn't happen to me every night at Hyde," but they totally wouldn't listen.
Day Four
2 PM: Dude. The grossest thing just happened, Diary. I can't even write it down, it's so bad. I grew HAIR. On my FACE, Diary. It's just there. Over my eyeballs. I begged the guard to file it down, shoot it, or something, but they wouldn't. I can't even look at myself in the reflection of the toilet water!
7 PM: I talked to Nunchucks in the yard today, and she told me that someone else told her that someone ELSE got out of here by pretending to have a total nervous breakdown, and I told her that I could totally do that because I've watched enough Lifetime Television for Women to know what they look like. So when I met with my lawyer today, I just looked all blank and acted the way Britney acted right before she shaved her head. He got totally nervous, then I started drooling, and he ran to get the guard. I am so out of here.
Day Five
3 AM: And they said I couldn't act.