PARIS HILTON AND THAT CHURCHILL TRAMP

There once existed in this three-ring circus called life, a calculating, over-sexed socialite who stopped at nothing to get power and glory. She worked day and night to perfect her extensive repertoire of sexual acrobatics. She conquered every married man of immense wealth and power on the planet. She even married three of them. She elevated the term courtesan to a new level. Indeed she was the most successful tramp who ever lived. Her name was Pamela Churchill.

By comparison, Paris Hilton comes off as a serious businesswoman, a brilliant entrepreneur whose sexual pyrotechnics on video tape are just a modern day stress reliever and publicity ploy for the woman on the go.

On the eve of World War II, an English baron's plain, humorless daughter, Pamela Digby, wed Winston Churchill's drunken bum son. It seems the climb up the social register to ever higher octaves can be mighty dirty work. Even for well-heeled socialites.

Junior on a good day looked like a gargoyle with warts. Even Fort Knox couldn't pay off his huge gambling debts. His lechery and vulgarity made Casanova look like a celibate monk. And he was a pompous twit who went on a quiz show and gave the wrong answer to the first question worth $64. But, hey, he was a CHURCHILL.

But luckily, Paris never had to sell her body and soul to get a famous name and station in life. She was born into the Hilton Hotel empire that gave shelter to one and all around the globe. Those cookie cutter hotel rooms gave her family palatial digs everywhere. But Paris, like Pamela, was a high society high school drop out determined to straddle the next comet to universal super stardom.

Now what's a girl in today's world supposed to do when her parents' generation invented casual sex, recreational drugs and Elvis' thrusting brand of rock 'n roll? The bar just doesn't get any higher for a child's full scale rebellion against her parents.

So what's a celebutante to do? Why the nasty with the sleazy ex-husband of your wacko actress friend, of course. All the while insouciantly unfurling that sly as a fox smile for his camcorder's red light. Flash your amorous dexterity, Paris, in this private session destined to propel your lackluster TV reality show to the cosmos when this x-rated tape debuts on the world wide web, billed as "One Night In Paris."

Pamela Churchill did not have this distinct advantage of technology in her rise from her knees to the top of the world. She had to do it the old fashioned way: stealing other women's husbands, shtupping and kissing only solid gold asses, and isolating these old fools from their kids so she could get their millions. And that took considerable skill, iron discipline and a cultivated charm beyond human endurance.

And let's not forget the miracles of the plastic surgeon's art, Lady Clairol blonde, and the killer wardrobes provided by the purveyors of international haute couture. However, a fun girl she never became. You just can't create even the illusion of a sense of humor, it seems. But when ambition and shame know no bounds, and you embark on relentless campaigns to make a man feel that you breathe and exist for his every whim, his every utterance, his every fantasy, you can truly become MISTRESS OF THE UNIVERSE.

Husband No. 2, Leland Hayward, the famed producer of "Sound of Music" and dozens of other show biz hits, gave her the ultimate conjugal compliment: "She is the greatest courtesan of the 20th century." Her hundreds of rich & powerful lovers from Baron Rothschild to William Paley (CBS) to Frank Sinatra to Stavros Niarchos & Prince Aly Khan applauded.

And apparently so did President Clinton. Through husband No. 3, political dealmaker and tycoon Averell Harriman, Pamela Churchill funded Bill Clinton's Presidential campaign and fueled his fantasies. They were sybaritic spirits and then some.

The new Commander-in-Chief rewarded the aging British courtesan with the most coveted and respected diplomatic post in the world: American Ambassador to France. She died in the City of Love at 76, while doing a backstroke in the pool at the Ritz Hotel. Keeping limber, no doubt, for her next diplomatic affair.

Now for Paris, lovers are playthings and publicity stunts. They are beneath her in all ways. They are but stepping stones in creating the brand that is PARIS HILTON. Because of her well-calculated sexploits, Paris pulled in a cool $15 million last year, including dough from her jewelry and fragrance lines. That's more than 10 times the $1.25 million generated by Marilyn Monroe's estate through the licensing of her name and image.

This party girl socialite is now a global business brand. Her name is on nightclubs, clothing and handbag lines, energy drinks, movie credits, best-selling books, record albums and a syndicated TV reality show. She commands up to $200,000 for a 20-minute party appearance and receives a half a million dollars plus for her commercials. She hawks everything from T-Mobile cell phones to Carl's Jr. hamburgers with a casual panache.

Paris Hilton is a great business woman. Even the paparazzi know that! Pamela Churchill was a great tramp. Oops, courtesan. And we can prove it.

Paris recently confessed that she is "not sexual" despite the famous sex tape and her lascivious, sexy image that is projected daily in 3-D and Technicolor across the world's landscape. "It's just my image. All my boyfriends ask what's the matter with me. They say I'm not sexual at all."

Paris Hilton frigid?

Now that's HOT!!

(c) 2006, Sistarrs International