Poor old Paris Hilton. It's not every day you'll hear me say that but having just emptied my spam folder and realised to what an extent the world of evil trojan horse and malicious email villains detest the hotel heiress, I can't help but feel a tiny empathetic twinge.
"Paris Hilton infested with cockroaches" claims Mirela Thomsen. Visions of Papa Roach videos aside, that's quite a nasty rumour to be starting there, Mirela. "Paris Hilton vows not to write book until she reads one first" snipes Linn Dente. And then there's my favourite, "Paris Hilton tosses dwarf on the street" from Arif Katajapuro. Wow, Arif, simply wow. Knowing full well that clicking 'play' on the attached video would rip my computer to shreds in seconds, the little red lad with the forked tail on my left shoulder still couldn't offer enough positive support to the idea. Chances like this don't come up often, and I am partial to the odd dwarf throwing video, as my good friend Mr Katajapuro has astutely picked up on. He knows me so well.
"Hilton tells Lampard "I'm pregnant and it's yours!" Mourinho say he's proud!" brings about many questions, not least as to what role Jose Mourinho plays in this story. Strange how Fat Frank would opt to turn to him with this matter. Maybe we could push Paris out of this equation and instead bring in ex-Chelsea skamp, Dennis Wise for some sort of Three Men And A Baby-esque hilarity?
Whilst the above all take a very dim view others do leap to the blonde dickheads defence. "Paris Hilton discovers cure for cancer at home, in her spare time" Willy Esertas declares hopefully, pants ablaze. What Willy is cleverly implying here, you'll notice, is not only is Paris clever enough to discover a cure for one of the world's biggest killers, something which thousands our best doctors and billions of pounds have not been able to do, but Ms Hilton can do it in her spare time. You can picture it now: She spends the morning walking around LA carrying a gay little dog in her bag, the afternoon is spent on the sunbed, the evening is filled with cocktails and pool parties and then, between her butler brushing her teeth and the latest man of choice tucking her into bed, she takes a second to pop down to the lab and make a note of the world-changing formula. Amazing. You go, girl!
"Paris Hilton: The day I found out Gary Glitter is my Dad" seems as good a way as any to end this round-up of my spam folder. Next week I'll be following up on the below lead from Homer Leopold.