Are you there, God? It's me, Paris.

I know I haven't talked to you in a while, but I think I need to set things right. Am I doing this right? With my hands clasped and looking up. That's how you like it, God. Isn't it?

Anyway, I don't know what happened. I've been super-rich since birth, and I've been having sex with hot rich guys since I was a teenager. I finally got the attention I deserved when an amateur sex session was leaked to the public. I was an Internet star thanks to night vision on the camera. Those glowing eyes made me look super sexy.

I threw parties for the rich and tried to get myself known for sleeping with any and every available rich bachelor I met. I've been engaged a couple times, but I don't know God, it didn't seem like I would get enough attention if I was hitched.

I finally received legitimate celebrity status when I got my very own reality TV show on Fox called The Simple Life. We had two seasons of me & my sometimes friend making fun of rural America, and I learned a lot about stuff and being in front of the camera.

I try to party every chance I can get, God, because I know that's what you want. I even convinced Britney Spears to get drunk, open up and show her beaver to the paparazzi. I thought that would help her. Then, she shaved her head.

But now, things have turned against me, and it's just not fair. Because I party so much with the rich & famous at my clubs, I have to drive around drunk. The cops keep stopping me and giving me tickets. Whatever. Like I'm ever going to invite them to my parties.

They put me on probation and took away my license, God, that's just mean. I have to party and drink and drive. That's what I do. They busted me twice for DUIs on a suspended license, and now I'm in jail. I feel sick, God. I feel like I have a medical condition. I can't drink in jail. I can't party. Everyone wants to take my picture, and I'm stuck in a prison hospital.

Mom said she bribed the sheriff to letting me have house arrest, but the mean old judge said I had to go back to jail. That's totally not fair, God. Mom said she would take care of it, but now I'm back in jail. I'm shaking. I'm crying. I'm feeling de-tox. I have a medical condition, but no one is helping me.

People are choosing sides. People love me. People hate me, God. People want to see me, and I have to stay here in jail for 40 days. That's like over a month, God. I could have so many parties in forty days. I could have sex with like at least a dozen guys. I could be opening up clubs all around the world, but I can't because I drove around drunk while on probation for driving around drunk. What's the big deal, God? Really? I didn't know it was wrong. I said I was sorry. It was all work-related.

So why me, God? I'm just a poor little rich girl. It's the media's fault. If they didn't follow me around when I party, the cops would never know it was me who was drunk in that fifty thousand dollar car. Partying is what I do. Why can't they just let me do it? It's not fair, God! Where's my mom?

I promise, God, if you can get me out of this cruel & unusual punishment of 40 days in jail, I will change my ways. I will only party some of the time. I will only sleep with nice rich boys. I will get a chauffeur to drive me everywhere. Please, God. If you help me, I'll let you party with me. We could have a really fun time. A few drinks, some blow. Maybe slip away together. Turn on a camera and just see what happens. What do you say, God? God? Are you there, God? It's me, Paris. Hello?

Well, fine then. Just wait until I get out. Then I'm really going to show you how much partying I can do. And guess what, God? You're not invited! This is so unfair.

Chris Jungle is like whatever.