Paris Hilton got a little surprise visit at Macy’s last Friday when a mustachioed man turned up in the long line of women who’d bought an $80 bottle of her new stinky fragrance. The hotel heiress asked the dude how she should autograph her photo.

“Make it out to ‘The Guy Who Has My Storage Locker Stuff,’” said David Hans Schmidt, who then introduced himself as the broker of the secret diaries, videotapes and snapshots that went on the auction block when she didn’t pay her storage bill. “That stuff can’t be published,” the wide-eyed Hilton told Schmidt. “Like your sex video?” said Schmidt, who has offered to sell Hilton’s possessions back to her. (Just to jog her memory about the Hilton family heirlooms, he showed her a photo of herself as a little girl holding baby sister Nicky.)Hilton told Schmidt she’d meet with him in L.A. She also signed his picture: “To David, Love Paris Hilton xoxo.”

Come on Paris, how can you say that your locker room secrets can’t be published? You’re the queen of all media whores. The only part of your body that can’t be published is your brain. Because you don’t have one.

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