Paris Hilton Takes Her Clothes Off for 944 Magazine

Here’s our gal Paris, getting all half-naked for 944, while pointing out all the respectable things she does with her life.

“It makes me angry because people don’t know the real me,” she says. “Yes, I do get paid to go to parties. But when you see me at a party, I’m always working or promoting something. I work with so many organizations, especially Childrens Hospital in Los Angeles and the Make-A-Wish Foundation.”

Yeah, Paris, when you go to parties, you’re always promoting something: yourself.

Did I ever tell you guys about when I used to work for 944? This was before it was a lifestyle mag; it was a porn studio back then. The name of the magazine comes from the address of our original studios: we were at 944 S. Mill in Tempe, Arizona. You know, right next to the tattoo parlor, although I was instructed to tell callers that we were “next to the Dairy Queen.” The Dairy Queen was actually two doors over, but the owners thought that sounded classier than saying we were next to the tattoo parlor; I found this point to be arguable at best.

Anyway, I was doing web development for them, along with a group of 15-year-old boys they’d recruited out of the local high schools. It was one of the more surreal experiences of my life. I’d be sitting in the main offices with these horny teenage boys, and the owners would be leading nude models in and out of the studios. Their goal at the time was to be a “classy” porn studio, so they’d take all these artsy pictures, and then — as the only woman working in the entire place — the pictures were presented to me, so that I could make the final determination as to whether or not they were classy. There was one that I seriously had to stare at for like 30 seconds before I could figure out what it was; it was two nude women, standing stomach to stomach, legs spread. The shot was taken was taken from the ground, between their legs, facing up. I was finally like, “Oh! It’s two vaginas! Pressed together! From the ground!” and they were like “Classy, right?”

Needless to say, I eventually quit. And I never gave any formal notice or even said goodbye. I just got fed up one day, turned to the pimple-faced boy sitting next to me, said “Tell them I quit,” and left. So that was shitty of me and, if you guys are reading this, I’m sorry about that. But about six months later I ran into one of the owners at a Tokyo Express. Rather than berating me, he was like, “Hey, I’m glad I ran into you. We’re turning 944 into a lifestyle magazine. We need some good writers. Do you want a job?” and I politely told him that I’d think about it and then never called him back. In retrospect, it was a remarkably stupid decision.

Anyway.

Here’s Paris. Being classy in that special way that only 944 understands.