TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS IN HOLLYWOOD!
'Twas the night before Christmas, when in Hollywoodland,
Not a celebrity was stirring, except Paris Hilton and gang.
Louis Vuitton bags were slung over shoulders with care,
In hopes that the paparazzi soon would be there.
Tom Cruise was nestled all snug in his bed,
While visions of Scientology danced in his head.
Madonna, Jolie and Pitt slept in a coma,
After adopting half of Malawi - next, they're taking Angola.
Yes, all of Tinseltown was finally quiet at last,
Even Tara Reid stayed home (but she was still drunk off her a**).
When, what to my wondering eyes should spring,
But a new psychological condition brewing.
At the Leicester University, psychologists say,
Celebrity Worship Syndrome is as real as Lance Bass is gay.
CWS, or Mad Icon Disease,
Explains why folks care if Britney wears panties.
It was confirming to read, to say at the least,
That this sickness from Hollywood was now a real disease.
So out on my keyboard I typed in commotion,
And hoped that somebody would be paying attention.
Put down your Hello! Drop the US Weekly!
Off Lohan! Off Duff! Off, Simpson and Ritchie!
To the rubbish you go! Its time the mighty fall!
Stop worshipping false idols with no talent at all!
And then, just as quick, I saw in an omen,
How boring it'd be if sober was Ms Lohan.
And if Paris Hilton were acting responsibly,
And what if Anna Nicole Smith wasn't just plain crazy?
And how about Nicole Ritchie's DUI,
And Rosie vs The Trump, not to mention that K-Fed guy?
As I drew in my head, all the stupidest people,
I realized I do kinda like seeing them come down a little.
Maybe thats why so many folks stargaze,
And read all that trash in the tabloids everyday.
Well, its Christmas and all, and I've got the sensation,
Nows not the time to rage against pretension.
So I turned off the computer, and went beddy-bye,
But I had one last outburst I just had to recite,
So I sat all-a-humble, as I finally typed my distilling:
Happy Christmas to all, even that bag Paris Hilton!