Paris Hilton has revealed herself to be ever-so-slightly more shallow than the last time she said something this unfathomable.

Any other celebrity, heck, any other person for that matter, spitting out such insultingly ill-thought out nonsense would perhaps, if they too were 28 years old, be just cause to have them sectioned.

The world scratched its head as the heiress revealed that the single worst moment of her life was when her tiny teacup pooch went missing.

So, screw all you people losing your jobs in droves. Screw everyone at the epicentre of the financial implosion. And an obligatory screw you to anyone and everyone with the sniffles, convinced they have Swine Flu.

Everything that happens in Paris’ life is more important than in yours, because the woman herself is more important than you.

Ok, has she gone yet… oh good, we can stop trumpeting.

The above should read that the reality star seems to be of the impression that she and her double AAs are more important than anything you have going on in your life right now. Yes you, the one eating a cold Pot Noodle while hovering precariously over your laptop. Did you know that a woman who is nearing 30, yet has little more to do to fill her days than tanning, lost her tiny dog and that it made her so sad she pulled her “Whaaa!” face?

Well you should, because the sex tape star has revealed just how empty, meaningless and vacuous her life is and now that we have drawn you into the mix, you should know that the utter vapidity of the quote below may be enough to make your brains melt out of your ears.

Paris explains to Tatler magazine:

Her worst moment was when her dog vanished. ’It was so scary – she was gone for a week and I wasn’t sure if she’d ever come back. It was like losing a child. She was a couple of blocks away at an old lady’s house. The lady didn’t watch TV so she didn’t know my dog was missing. Then she saw the sign and I got her back.’

So, we guess you know you have no real life experience – when not having any children and therefore having no basis whatsoever for comparison – you exclaim that losing your pet (whom you rarely take care of yourself) is utterly tragic and near life destroying.

Shall we play a game? OK, let’s think of other objects/ people etc to remove from the life of this parasite and see just how comically and insignificantly upset she gets then.

Heaven help the world if her iron-laced womb is actually capable of gestating mini-Hiltons. Littler socialites and their even tinier dogs running around our ankles for eternity, giving quotes of equal or less value than that of the above.

Shall we just arrange the group cyanide poisoning now and save ourselves the agony? Anyone?

This was a guest blog by Amy Grindhouse who is a) a woman and b) quite lovely.

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