Paris Hilton star guest at Vienna Ball

Hilton said there were “a lot of people who need help” in the world and that she planned to go to Africa sometime this year. “As a celebrity, you can really make people aware of what’s going on in the world,” she said.

Paris gets a bad rap as a vapid, soulless celebutard who drains the world of light and hope, so it’s nice to see her softer, gentler side (the one that isn’t flashed to the paparazzi whenever she climbs out of a limo.)

Refugees in Darfur eagerly await the latest airdrop from Operation: Shoes For The Starving.

Despite her reputation as the poster girl for narcissistic excess, Paris actually has a keen awareness of the plight of the poor in Africa.

For example, did you know that children in Africa have no access to designer shoes of any kind? It’s a tragedy, and someone has to do something about it.

That’s why, as soon as she finishes her $4,500 back rub, Paris is going to take a private jet back to L.A. to pack up all of her unused Manolo Blahnik stiletto heels and airlift them to the Abebech Gobena orphanage in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.

But charity isn’t just about giving starving kids your $14,000, jewel-encrusted shoes that you never wore because that stupid bitch Kimberly Stewart wore the same pair to Hyde last week. It’s also about using your celebrity to raise awareness.

Paris Hilton: Saving the world one pussy flash at a time.

Paris is famous for a lot of reasons. Her music. Her fashion sense. Her on-again-off-again relationships. But more than anything, Paris is known for one thing: her gaping vagina.

As much as she’d like to, Paris can’t donate her vagina to charity. But she can still use her pink taco for the forces of good.

From now on, every time a paparazzi aims his lens at Paris’ nether regions, he will see, not her shorn labia, but rather a life-altering message of hope (see photo).

Boston’s Reaction To Security Scare Debated

In nine cities across the country, blinking electronic signs displaying a profane, boxy-looking cartoon character caused barely a stir.

But in Boston, the signs — some with protruding wires — sent a wave of panic across the city, prompting officials to shut down highways and bridges and send out bomb squads.

The question many were asking Thursday was: Did Boston overreact?

The suspicious devices found in Boston (top) are virtually indistinguishable from the type of improvised explosive device commonly used in terrorist attacks (bottom).

The question that people should be asking is not “Did Boston overreact?” but “Why is America underreacting?” In a post-9/11 world, anything less than barely contained hysteria is not only irresponsible, it’s downright unpatriotic.

We’re at war, people! This is no time for calm, rational thought. We have a moral obligation to those who have died — and are dying — in the war on terror to be, well, terrorized. Not panicking implies that there is no reason to panic. And if there is no reason to panic, then there is no reason to be in Iraq, firing wildly into the desert in hopes of killing something brown and evil.

Sure, you might not feel threatened by the My Little Pony sticker stuck to the subway bench next to you. And maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s not a paper-thin wafer of Semtex explosives laced with highly concentrated radioactive anthrax. But are you really prepared to take that chance? I’m not.

The fact is, we live in a dangerous world, full of dangerous people and dangerous things. Danger is everywhere. Death lurks around every corner. Each minute we live is a minute closer to violent dismemberment at the hands of a faceless terrorist.

I Scream, You Scream: A bloodthirsty terrorist puts the finishing touches on her latest murderous creation.

You think you know Death. You think you’ll see him coming. But while you’re looking out for a tall guy with a skull face and a black robe, Death is sneaking up behind you disguised as the Hamburglar, or as a Fonzie doll, or as Hillary Clinton.

And while your mortal screams fade to just the sound of your arterial blood splashing to the pavement, I’ll be safe with the real Americans: under the bed in my homemade bomb shelter, clutching a shotgun, a Bible, and a big sign saying, “I Told You So.”

Wake up, America. If we don’t live our lives in the grip of relentless, irrational, unyielding fear, then the terrorists have already won.