In Space, No One Can Hear Heidi Montag Sound Like Shit

There will come a day—maybe not in the near future, or even the distant future, but perhaps thousands and thousands of years from now—when the significance of the early 21st Century pop-cultural phenomenon known as The Hills will make itself fully known. At that time, trillions of shipbound lifeforms coasting through the universe will already have been hard at work, tending slavishly to their Heidi and Spencer Pratt Solemnity Shrines and anointing young LC-alikes in dabs of Suddenly, Audrina—the most seductively floral of all Official The Hills Scents—before sacrificing the virgins to the mighty reality Gods ensconced atop Mt. Bolthouse. Doing so will inch them ever closer to utter and complete, like, enlightenment. In the meantime, however, artifacts like the one above will remain nothing but mysteries, wrapped in enigmas, stuffed into leotards, and adorned with deeply symbolic terrycloth headbands. Tomorrow never dies. We wanna live forever. Let us hear your bodies talk.

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