Like, really, really important.
Paris Hilton came out with a new single called "Drunk Text," & it is AMAZING.
I'm not kidding. I am being in no way sarcastic, ironic, or otherwise insincere. I do, in fact, mean that when I hear these three-plus minutes of Paris Hilton talking—just talking—over that kind of inconsequential, blippy techno that sounds like champagne bubbles popping, I feel nothing but profound & utter amazement. Even awe. It is awesome, in the original sense of the term.
Because what she has created (or—well—it's "Manufactured Superstars feat. Paris Hilton," & we are talking about Paris fucking Hilton here—so, clearly, "what's been created for her & what she has brought to life, &/or its most beautifully blasée semblance")—is pure goddamn crazypants gold.
I'm actually at a loss as to how to give verbal justice to the unadulterated, spastic glee I feel upon hearing the life-summational first lyric—"I went out to the club the other night... To... You know... [ Pregnant pause... ] Dance with my bitches..."—or the line that now dictates the only way I will ever accept a drink, ever—"He hands me another shot of vodka, & I say... [ Pregnant pause... ] Sure."
Especially notable are the lines of batshit Xanga-meets-thesaurus glory—e.g., "In my head, I was writing a fiction of us / Behind my eyes, I was begging for things my lips could never ask / But my mouth kept pouring desperate clauses of random intent"—& that unforgettable lesson in portmanteaus: "You take the word 'sex' & mix it with 'texting' / It's called 'sexting' / When you add 'drunk sexting'? / Words just don't make any sense..."—all tumbled through the deliciously slack emptiness of her voice, that singular perpetual nasal sigh, the original & ultimate "Look at all the fucks I give!"
"...No one is safe in the Twittersphere anymore..."—"...It's a hot mess of misspelled obscenities..."—"...& I'll be damned if I end up in some lame diner after this, last night's lingerie in my purse..."—Every line in this song is a revelation.
Honestly, the closest explanation-slash-metaphor I can come up with is: if one of those 800-person K-Pop bands were to do a cover of a Slipknot song, the video for which was a technicolor re-rendering of Maru the cat clips played backwards. That is how I feel when I listen to "Drunk Text": like I'm on an impressive amount of the world's most beautiful acid. But, like, an acid martini, quaffed while wearing false eyelashes & very high heels & scoffing a lot.
It's fucking transcendent is what it is. I really can't stop playing it—nor do I want to.
You know what? Just watch the video. Experience it for yourself, pretty please—& if for whatever reason you don't glean the absolute & utter soul-bursting joy from it that I do, all I can say is, "Sorry... It was just a Drunk Text."