Missing Out on Miss America
Last weekend 22-year-old Katie Stam, a.k.a. Miss Indiana, was crowned the new Miss America. I was deeply disappointed, because I wanted to compete in that pageant. No, I am not a hermaphrodite or a transsexual. I have all the usual male parts and male desires, both of which I like flaunt at female passersby whenever I’ve had a few too many gin and tonics.
Stam won a $50,000 scholarship and all the Pepsi One she can drink. I wanted that money to pursue my dream of going back to college and obtaining a degree in Ethnomusicology. Thus are fragile dreams ground cruelly underfoot.
My motives for wanting to compete as “Near Miss Texas” in the pageant were noble. Not only did I want the scholarship and the honor of traveling the country demonstrating what an airhead I am, I wanted to expose the blatant gender bias and antiquated sexism of it all. The fact that I would’ve been in the dressing room with 49 hot chicks as they stripped to the buff to put on their evening gowns and swimsuits was the furthest thing from my mind. I merely wanted to challenge the exclusivity of this 88-year-old travesty. Really, who watches this “pageant” any more, besides married men who have no access to Internet porn?
And I ask you, why should only women be allowed to compete in this pageant, even though it happens to be called Miss America? If military schools can be forced to enroll female cadets, and persons of color can break the barriers of whites-only country clubs, why can’t I force my way into someplace I don’t belong? Okay, I just realized those are really bad analogies, so forget I said that.
Despite my heartfelt pleas and empty threats of a lawsuit, gender bias won out and I was refused admission to the pageant—notwithstanding the fact that I have better legs than the chunky gams of Rebecca Robinson, the current Miss Texas. And quite frankly, I feel prettier.
It’s too bad, because I had a killer routine prepared for the talent portion: I was going to place a handful of other contestants on big spinning wheels and throw flaming meat cleavers at them while singing “You Light Up My Life” in Portugese. I figured if I didn’t wow the judges, I could at least eliminate some of the competition.
For the swimsuit competition, I was ready to don this nice one-piece bright blue Vix number designed by Paula Hermanny. It really flattened my stomach and brought out my eye color. I would’ve killed in it. Alas, it was not to be. As usual, the chauvinists won the day. It’s too bad, because I already shaved my entire body in preparation of the big event, and damn, do I itch.
Oh well. There’s always the Miss Universe pageant.
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