Bear with me on this one.

Check this out: here’s Paris Hilton and she’s insanely, fabulously, ridiculously wealthy and yet half the time we’re hearing about her because she’s gotten herself into trouble again. Maybe she got into a fight with Lindsey Lohan or somebody like Lindsey Lohan at a club, or maybe she lost her dog and is putting up flyers all over New York or L.A. looking for him, or maybe she’s getting out of a stretch limo wearing nothing underneath her very short dress but air, so that when the paparazzi snap pictures, they get some very revealing shots, if you know what I mean, nudge-nudge, wink-wink, or, on that note, maybe a sex tape of her gets out onto the internet and is watched by millions, or maybe she’s buying something silly like a shopping mall or Norway — not that Norway is silly, but why would anyone want to buy it? — or maybe she’s trying to trademark the words, “That’s hot!” or maybe … well, you get the idea.

But that’s only half the time. What is she doing the other half of the time? Sleeping? Unlikely, not with access to that many amphetamines.

Remind you of anyone?

Exactly! Bruce Wayne.

Half the time, there he is: a hedonistic, egotistical, billionaire playboy — although when writer Bill Finger and artist Bob Kane first came up with the idea for Batman back in 1939 for DC comics, Bruce Wayne was only a millionaire, or possibly even just a thousand-aire, since in 1939 a few thousand bucks would buy a lot of batarangs.

Anyway, there he is prancing about with starlets, getting drunk, buying stuff he doesn’t need, possibly even Norway, and generally acting like the spoiled, rich-kid brat that everyone expects him to be because spoiled and brattish is what always happens to the sons and daughters of the rich, or at least that’s our beloved stereotype of the rich kid, even when the rich kid’s parents are killed by some random mugger in a back alley behind the local opera house, this latter being as good an argument as I’ve ever heard on why not to go to the opera.

Not the point.

Anyway, that’s half the time.

The other half of the time, of course, he’s The Batman, a caped and cowled superhero without superpowers, who relies solely upon his brilliant intellect, his highly-trained physical prowess, and the gadgets and gizmos that his fortune can buy to fight the ne’er do wells of the city’s criminal underbelly.

Come on, think about it!

Yup, uh huh! Paris Hilton!

The key to my argument, of course, is that if you compile all the things that we know about Paris Hilton, we come to realize one startling fact: no one — no one — can be that ditzy, that foolish, that scandal-prone (with the possible exception of Britney Spears). Not even Marilyn Monroe, and she made a real try of it. Therefore, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, if she isn’t that ditzy, that foolish, that scandal-prone by nature, then it must be by choice, and the only reason someone would do that by choice is because they’re hiding something … else. Something worth ruining their reputation and their life over. Something worth being branded a ‘get’ over.

It's not in pink, but _could_ it be?

Someone should finance a study to see if crime goes down in neighborhoods near the clubs Paris Hilton has been known to frequent, and see, too, if there have been any sightings in those same places of mysterious, leather-wearing vigilantes — said leather probably in pink — who, once a criminal has been subdued by being hit over the head with a designer Louis Vuitton purse or spiked in the face with a six-inch heel, leaves behind only four daring words as her calling card: “Fighting crime: that’s hot!”

I think the world might be surprised at what that report might conclude.

Oh, oh! And Britney Spears could be Robin.
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This column is a work of satire and is therefore, hopefully, not prosecutable as libel. The author has no wish to annoy any superheroes, as they tend to be able to beat him up. If you’re not an angry superhero, you can leave a comment, below.