I am Georgia, I am Gucci

At Miami’s Winter Music Conference, Paris Hilton was named Best Celebrity DJ, beating out 5th Avenue scaffolding-model Adrien Brody. After the competition, we hear Paris was all, “stick to the piano, bitch” and “you been served, Christ killer.” Meow.

We’re now counting on Paris, having won this award, to dump her lame plans to launch a solo music career and do what we all know she should -- join up with Kid Rock as his new mix-master.

Imagine for a moment: The Kid cranking up the bad ass rock, Ms. Hilton throwing down the massive VIP club beats.

Just the two of them – a bastard-cousin to The White Stripes. Hillbilly-stomping, Jet-set cruising. Her DJ Jazzy Jeff to his French Prince. Indecent, glamorous, sleazy, funky.

The album cover. A suite at the Hilton hotel. Kid Rock walking out of the bathroom, cigar in mouth, towel around his waist, grinning like a Cheshire cat at the sight before him: Paris, dressed in a house-cleaning uniform, bent over, picking up empty beer cans off the floor, unaware she’s being watched.

Album Title: Pimps In Paris.

Just a dream, folks. Just a dream.