Ma and I do enjoy our beauty pageants. Back when I lived at home and still got teary because I never fit into the gauzy party clothes then in fashion for teenagers, we used to watch them together, snuggling on the couch, hooting at the augmented facial features and preposterous costumes. I am perpetuating this tradition by throwing a party Sunday night to honor Miss Universe. In a time of global instability, what better way to spend an evening than by affirming that big breasts are beautiful no matter what country they hail from?
If Miss America is a wholesome broadcast journalism student from Ohio, who speaks out bravely against pre-marital sex or at least against diabetes, Miss Universe is her trashy cousin from Miami (or Ukraine.
Or Venezuela). She's more lipo-sculpted, more outrageous, and certainly more bedazzling. Plus, instead of a sh*tty suit, she's going to be wearing a "national costume."
Now this is a righteous beauty pageant.
Celebrate globalization with Melina and Donald Trump this Sunday night.
Beverages will be provided. Bring your own tiara.
Sunday, July 23rd, 9:00 PM