Hack! Hack! Arrghh! I just coughed up a cheese ball! The last time I was subjected to so much fromage was the tribute to Kiss at the Jack Tar Village resort. I cannot believe I spent the last hour watching the Miss Belgium pageant when I could have used the time to trim my cuticles. Beauty pageants aren't my thing. There is something intrinsically skewed with bikini-clad beauties charming it up for scholarship money. Gee, here's a twist - try actually studying for a scholarship.
I will occasionally tune in to the Miss Universe pageant. In the same manner that I'll watch horse racing, Hubby and I pick our favourites. I've grown accustomed to the showy, lavish, Trump cash-injected extravaganzas. At least, the girls are poised professionals - no quivering lips and rapid blinking for someone who ambitions to have a career in modelling and television. So, when Miss Teen Chérie hosted by Peter Pringle circa 1981 meets late-night party line ads, I can't help but watch in horrid fascination the crowning of Miss Swiss Fondue.
It can be said that the Miss Belgium pageant is an exercise in democracy. Fifty percent of a contestant's result is based on the score awarded by a panel of judges. The other half is based on the number of votes called in by the viewing audience. Enter the soft-porn pictorial spreads of the candidates, complete with shot of single water droplet running down tanned flesh.
The talent show was truly heroic. The girls showed us, through song and poem, why each and everyone deserved to wear a tiara made of chicken wire and bedazzles. In the end, the girl who made crepe Suzette won. And she didn't even have to mention World Peace or her friend Jesus.
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1 comment:
I loved it Angie.
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