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The Miss USA pageant: Dumpster of love

Sunday was a very special day. There I sat, in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, eating an entire bucket of fried chicken by myself. Most of you probably think I spend every day this way, but you’re mistaken. I’m a man of discipline. True hedonists know moderation is the key to keeping decadent acts enjoyable. So when you see me half-nude, drinking scotch out of an empty fried chicken bucket, it can only mean the Miss USA pageant is on TV.

And if you see me doing that completely nude, that means the Miss Teen USA pageant is on TV.

To those of you disappointed in me for watching the sexist prison that is the Miss USA pageant, let me offer three rebuttals: 1) Have you read this column before? I’m a horrible person. 2) It could be worse. For instance, on the third Wednesday of each month I watch Mary Kate and Ashley VHS tapes while performing autoerotic asphyxiation. 3) When you said “sexist prison”, I only thought about how much hotter the Miss USA pageant would be if all of them were dressed in prison outfits and forced to battle each other with shivs.

I don’t get the anger toward the Miss USA pageant. Sure, it’s a competition that reinforces stereotypes and grades women like pieces of meat. Sure, some state organizers buy the contestants breast implants and feed them diet pills. Sure, the women not being sold at the end of the pageant is the only thing that differentiates the experience from a typical Filipino whorehouse. But the fact that all this is presented without the slightest bit of irony is tremendously comical. It’s like watching a show where people wearing tin foil hats rate which UFOs are the most real.

Also, I don’t see how it’s possible to dislike a competition where they purposely goad the contestants into saying something offensive. After last year’s Carrie Prejean incident, every question posed to contestants this year was controversial. Watching the conservative crowd of Texas housewives boo Oscar Nunez, the lovable accountant from “The Office”, for asking about Arizona’s immigration law was comedy gold in itself.

Besides, it’s not like the contestants aren’t talented, career-minded ladies. For instance, Miss Colorado is a figure skater who “competes locally”, which is a nice way of saying she’s an unemployed person who likes to figure skate. Miss California wants to be a Formula 1 racer (No, really). Miss Oklahoma used to have lupus (I’m seriously not making this up). The remaining contestants are pretty much all communicating arts majors, so at least I’ll have some new foxy ladies to hit on in the unemployment line next year.

However, this year’s Miss USA pageant was extra special for the Twin Ports region, because the Miss Minnesota contestant was from Duluth. She was cut five seconds after the show began. Those five seconds were magical, though. Her name appeared on screen almost long enough for me to write it down for use in this column. Almost.

The disposal of nearly every contestant within the first five minutes is another hilarious part of the pageant that I enjoy. The first thing they do when the show begins is eliminate 36 of the 51 women. No competitions, no judging. Just a quick hello and then three-fourths of the ladies are thrown in a dumpster out back. Then it’s straight to the swimsuits, followed by a horrid-looking Joan Rivers making a joke about herpes. I don’t want to overuse the word “magical” in this column, but it’s hard to find a word that better describes it.

By the way, Joan and Melissa Rivers providing commentary was like watching a burn victim have a conversation with an old rubber tire. If I’d been high, I probably would’ve jumped out a window.

This might not be the only year you see someone with Duluth roots involved in the pageant, though. With that guy from “The Office” being a judge this year, one could reasonably assume they’ll be desperate enough in coming years to ask someone as obscure as me. At least they would if Northland columnists hadn’t been banned from judging the pageant since 1974, when Duluth News-Tribune columnist Sam Cook snuck backstage, stole a swimsuit, and attempted to compete. Eyewitnesses say he would have won if he hadn’t neglected to shave his chest.

Then again, the ban might have been a good thing. If I were a judge, the question I’d ask contestants would involve either favorite sexual positions or the loadout they use on Modern Warfare 2, and I don’t think the pageant folks would appreciate either. I’d also call out each girl for making the end of every sentence sound like a question. “That’s a shitty way to talk,” I’d say. “Your inflection is shitty.”

After a short fistfight with fellow judge Johnny Weir over whether I can or cannot spit sunflower seeds on the floor during commercial breaks, I’d be taken out back and thrown in the same dumpster as the 36 pageant contestants they discarded at the beginning of the show. Which I would love.


 One Response to “The Miss USA pageant: Dumpster of love”

  1. Ben Dover says:

    For those who feel they must know more about autoerotic asphyxiation, you might try to find a copy of The Breathless Orgasm: A Lovemap Biography of Asphyxophilia by John Money, Gordon Wainwright, and David Hingsburger (Prometheus Books, 1991). The first part of the book is the story of an “asphyxiophile” who lived to tell about it.

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