he early run of hotel heiress and all around well respected young lady Paris Hiton’s highly-anticipated new series The Simple Life: Century Regional Detention Center hit an unexpected blip this week, with Hilton walking off the set of this groundbreaking new creative enterprise. A Hitlon spokesperson cited “creative differences� between Hilton and the detention center officials who are producing the show in conjunction with the Los Angeles County courts.

“When I heard the courts had ordered 23 episodes, I knew this was going to be a big hit,� explained media buttsniff Margo Philsbury. “Talk about a fish out of water! Previous seasons of The Simple Life really failed to go for the gusto like this one did. I mean, Paris Hilton? In jail? Can you just imagine it?�

“C’mon, she’s so pretty. She’s like a princess,� explained Sheriff Lee Baca, who facilitated Hilton’s temporary departure from the show. “Or whatever they call it. Hostess? Heiress? Celebutante? Is that a real world now? You don’t put people like that in jail. Then all the kids would want to go to jail, they’d be skateboarding in public and carjacking and shit just to get in and live the glamorous life of an inmate like Miss Hilton.�

The public’s anticipation of the new series was sky-high leading up to its June 3rd debut, with MTV Video Awards host Sarah Silverman devoting a sizeable portion of her opening monologue to wishing the hotel heiress well in her latest endeavor. Audience members, however, couldn’t tell if Silverman was being ironic or post-ironic, also known as “sincere.�

Meanwhile, rumors abounded that Simple Life co-star Nicole Richie was working on a heroin possession deal to possibly continue the series without Hilton’s involvement.

“I heard they wanted Paris to eat this grody food, like she was in prison or something,� jawed Hilton friend and fellow What-The-Fuck-Are-You-Famous-For celebrity Richie. “And she was like ‘no way’ and they were like ‘you weigh 75 pounds, you’re gonna die if you don’t eat’ and she was like ‘I’d rather die than eat chicken fried steak, gross!’ and they were like ‘okay you can go home.’�

Hilton had landed the deal for the new series after wowing audiences with her performance last September, when a drunken Hilton was pulled over for weaving like an African-American hairdresser and reportedly told the police it was only because all she’d had for dinner was a martini. Other guest appearances in January and February cemented her position as America’s favorite excuse to not pay attention to Iraq, leading to a new deal for the show’s unexpected sixth season.

Hotel maids, restaurant owners and taxi cab drivers alike applauded the move, hoping it would mean Hilton would stop pissing everywhere.

Disaster was averted on Friday, when Hilton acceded to the producers’ demands that she honor her contract, returning to the set in a spirited mood, boisterously vocal about her enthusiasm for the project. The show’s production was immediately resumed, thrilling fans of lesbian shower scenes and mind-numbing rot the world over.

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Wish me luck, keep your fingers crossed, and break both your legs. Clarissa Coleman is all lined up for a big audition.

I don't usually tell you about auditions, I know. I like to keep some secrecy, some little things private to myself. That and I forget about them until the last minute most of the time. But this is different. This is no piddlin' "Hey, Remember the Songs of the '80s?" infomercial audition. This is a series television audition, no kidding. Real network TV! Well, UPN, and that counts as network TV in a few circles outside of Hollywood. But I'm excited all the same.

I was sitting around on New Year's Day, trying to figure out whose underwear I was wearing and how I got a hold of them, when my agent Dusty called. Usually it's not good news, he just wants to talk about the World's Fair of 1967 and what a grand time it was, that or how I still owe dues from 1989 to the SAG, but today was different. He had a part for me to read, a real live part!

I was skeptical, at first, who wouldn't be? But I checked, and the phone was indeed plugged in, and none of my commune office mates was hiding in the room. Not a camera in sight even. It really was Dusty, and once I verified he wasn't having another "living flashback" to the '80s, I would be on cloud nine.

Sure enough, the audition was real. It turns out a sitcom producer named Matt Viggoschultz was a big fan of my Court-TV appearances where I denied knowing anything about those injuries related to the Waffle Messiah, and wanted to know if I was working. Well, sure, if you count picketing E!'s Star Dates show with a sign that says, "First Date Action Guaranteed," but nothing that couldn't be dropped quickly for a rebound shot at television! He mailed (industry term for sending through the postal service) a copy of the pilot script for his show and I loved it! The binding was shiny and the font they used was original and clever. After I read it, it got even better.

It's a Friends-style show, with a little bit of Survivor mixed in, with a touch of Dragnet to make it work. In the pilot episode, a group of chums get shipwrecked on a desert island paradise, where they have to overcome their differences and learn to trust each other to survive the harsh environment. One of them is voted in as the tribal lawman, and when one of the buddies is murdered, the lawman has to solve the murder.

I knew it would be an effort to play this kind of role each week and make it believable, having never been stranded on a desert island where I played the role of law enforcer before, but I was determined to be a part of this project, no matter what I had to do. Producer Viggoschultz then informed me he wanted me for the lawman's sidekick, his girl Friday Shelly, which is a smaller role, yeah, but one I'm definitely more fit for. It's a shame, though, that beard was starting to come in pretty nice before he told me.

I was meant to play this role of Shelly, and nothing will stop me from playing her, short of not getting the part. Which is why I've been rehearsing my monologue all week. In the past I've always used the same piece for auditions, but it's never worked out for me—I think I'm just getting too old to do the "I want a give the world a gweat big hug!" bit from Who's Your Daddy? that I used for years. This year I'm using Susan Sarandon's "boycott G.E." Oscar speech, and if they look like an apolitical crowd I'll just use Halle Berry's three minutes of crying Oscar speech. Either way, I'm getting this role. 2003 is going to be the year of the comeback for Clarissa Coleman.

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Upon receiving this award, I have this prepared speech for you. Believe me, it's worth your time.

Ladies and gentleman who picked me, I have to say thank you. But I suppose I should really be thanking me. I'm the one who's put in the hard work and done everything possible just so I could be me. Do you think it's easy? For me it is. For anyone else, it could be really difficult, but for me, it comes naturally.

All I can really say upon receiving this terrific recognition is: it's about time. Other people get rewards for doing nothing, easy stuff like acting or hitting a baseball. That stuff isn't hard. I can hit a rock with a baseball bat, and I'm talking about small rocks. Baseballs are bigger than that. If I really wanted to, I suppose I could play baseball for a living and get rewards every day. It doesn't look all that hard. But I'm happy with the telemarketing job because I get Fridays off.

I'm not sure why it took you so long to get around to giving me something—I'm not doing your job, although I'm betting I could if I wanted to. I might shock you to say this, but I've never won anything in my life. Nothing. Not an award, not a medal, not a video game or game of bowling. Some people might think they lacked the ability to do something great, but I know it's just because I didn't really want it bad enough whenever I didn't win. Someone great once said, "There are no real losers; there's only people that fail to win." I said that! And it's true.

Believe me, I could have won a hundred things like these by now, if I needed that kind of validation enough to break a sweat 24 hours a day. But I don't—I'm too confident to work for somebody else's approval. Whether it's some faceless committee that picks names out of hats or some tight-ass boss who yells at you on Monday morning because you're not supposed to have Fridays off on your job, I don't need anyone else's approval. There's only one person I need to thank for bringing me into this world—me. I worked at it, dug and claw my way out of mom's womb, until I was out on my own, and I haven't needed anybody else since. Because I have confidence.

Still, I suppose thanks are in order for this great thing I've finally won. Thank you, me, for getting me to this point. I'm glad someone somewhere finally said, "That Awol Jackson, he's a right guy. He's the kind of guy who needs a fucking award." I imagine that's how it went. With less swearing, maybe. Or more. Who knows. But that guy or lady was right.

Don't think I'm going to go all soft or anything now that I have won something. I'm still going to keep trying—trying as much as I want to try, and no more. I don't need to impress anybody else to make Awol Jackson happy. I don't need to impress anybody. And I don't. I do what I know I should, and I just get by being me. I'm not going to turn all phony overnight and start working just to win awards. I'm not going to put on a suit and work day and night and smile for all the assholes in the world just so I can get more awards to put on my shelf. I don't even have a shelf, and I'm not about to build one. Maybe if I won one I'd take it, but I'm not going to change for no one.

If that's what you expect, you can take back your 1000 free hours of Internet service. I don't need awards that badly. I don't even have a computer anyway, so I'm sure not going to miss it.

If I won it on my own merit, I'll keep it. If you did it to buy my soul, take it back, you faceless committee.

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