Can't spell LO-ser without LO-L...

God. One of the greatest things about this job (Which sucks, despite the sweetness of the people) is that all I do all day is read stuff on the internet. And I'll be the first to admit that the only reason I'm not a gossip columnist is because I willingly fill my spare time so that I can't sit around and talk to people about other people. Also, I kind of hate gossip about real people. Luckily, Paris Hilton isn't a real person.

I can remember, not so long ago, dozing in Cos' bedroom, watching E!, and Cos turning to me to ask "Who's Paris Hilton?"

The television had described her as the most famous heiresse, and so on and so on, but this was lightyears ago. This was before Nick Carter, The Simple Life or (Go, girl!!) a cameo in The Cat In The Hat. This was even before the sex tape.

Now, of course, she's everywhere, and even my mother (Who says she hates gossip and means it much more than I do) knows who Paris is.

Which is fine.

So, of course, this being Thursday, and the news having broken Monday, I'm technically late talking about the whole Sidekick thing. And, really, I'm not even going to talk about it. More has been said about it than is strictly necessary, anyway.

I'm not even here to talk about Paris, 'cause really, I'm not that into her. Yeah, she has a similar car-crash flavour to Britney Spears, and everyone knows I love that. But she's not quite as much of a wreck. She's not even nearly as dumb, just ignorant of the way the rest of the world lives. But whatever.

Today I would like to discuss Carson Daley. Believe me, that's not a sentence I ever thought I'd use, but at least it's a lead up to a joke.

In this article, poor wee Carson expresses his hurt at not receiving prank calls after the leaking of Paris' little black book.

He says "I've given her my number thousands of times. She never puts it in her damn Sidekick!" I mean. Really. Poor Carson!! To be snubbed by one of the silliest, most farcical creatures on the planet. I can understand the hurt.

One day he may realize that he's not cool enough to be moving in the circles he moves in, and if this is any indication, his reaction will be pathetic. Or explosive. But I'm betting more on him curled in the fetal position, wondering "Why doesn't anyone like me?" rather than him sitting in a bell tower picking off skinny blond things with little white dogs.

Of course, the good news is that to Fox, either of these prospects means "Reality" televisionn gold. Best of luck, Carson!