'The roof is on fire'- Paris manufactures house music album

Once upon a time in a land far, far, far, faaaaaar away from away, there lived an artificial manufactured, chemically imbalanced simpleton - Paris Hilton. She was a robot with a tupperware cranium containing stale pronutro - poroxide acryllic hair - a walking talking robot you lot refer to as a 'heir'.

Paris is back, sadly with a matchbox mental capacity to make herself known again, as talks surface that she'll releasing her '2nd album' - a 2nd single of poorer quality. Pass us the bottle of wiskey...

There's no doubt that her music is of poor quality - come on it's Paris we're talking about. She's terrible boring on a muted tv - and arse-wiping tabloid spreadsheet. Great, eh?

Undoubtedly, her previous single 'stars are blind' resonated an auditory scenery of a throttled backseat driver - faultfinder critics took bliss in writing up colums and colums of her gleaming stupidity - and folks like us who love a bad outcome - loved it when sales totaled the equivalence of a kg of chicken liver...

Paris' music was of pop genre - because it was bizarrely popular dottiness. Now Paris has revealed that she'll be making a transition - no not on par with evolution - by releasing a conky head-thumping house music album...

She dumb-ly-dum-bly-dumb states:

"I have a recording studio in my house so any time I have free time I'm writing and working [on new music]. I've been working on this album for a really long time because I want it to be perfect. I recently changed the direction of the album. It was more pop before but now I'm getting rid of a lot of songs and going into a different direction with house music, so it will be a lot more dance and club."

Alas, realising her basal aptitude levels at being musically inclined - Paris' annoying catchphrase will post-hypnotically drain all common sense - we'll hand it all to her - while we lock ourselves in bathroom cubicles to 'escape reality', such you kiddies' blot - flushing our heads over and over again in the pot - and wake up with a tumor hangover with a tatoo beaming off your wrist 'par'ass'...

Or we could toss the album into the fire or set the studio alight - and disco like injun's...

Au revoir. That's paris, eh?..