Monday, January 22, 2007

Another Disgraced Beauty

"Miss USA Tara Conner finished her stint in rehab yesterday but, contrary to swirling rumors, didn't have a welcome-home bash at the club where she spent many of her notoriously wild nights... Tara successfully avoided what would've been one of the worst PR blunders in history by eschewing a coming-out party at Stereo, the frequent scene of her debauchery."

In recent days, the beauty pageant police have tossed Miss USA into the drunk tank, canned Miss "Never Say No" Nevada, and schooled Little Miss Pregnant New Jersey. Now, in the latest bomb to besmirch American beauty, they have stripped Robin Epstein, Miss Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, of her title. Epstein was forced to surrender the sash for “behavior unbecoming a beauty queen.” We join the disgraced Epstein at her tearful press conference…

Epstein: “It is with a heavy heart, a pregnant belly, a Swiss cheese liver and enough botulism toxin in my face to paralyze Shamu, that I stand before you to apologize today. Ever since I was a little girl I’d dreamed of becoming Miss B-Q-E. But I guess I got too caught up in the glamour. All the partying, the drinking, drugging, all the jell-o shots (especially the green ones), the rounds of all-girl naked Twister, the use of my hooha as a humidor, the flying around on Ron Burkle’s airplane, the use of my MySpace to run an “escort” service, the sex tape I did with Dustin Diamond’s stunt cock, the phone sex I had with Bill O’Reilly (so not worth it!), the murder I committed with OJ (“if” he did it), the video I shot at Saddam’s execution, and the whisper campaign I started against Oprah, really must have affected my judgment.

Pageant officials were right to rip the tiara out of my weave. They could have been a little gentler when doing so, but still. For me to have left my home without first applying a full face of make-up is inexcusable. And a clear violation of pageant rules. Such behavior is wrong and I am sick to my stomach that I did such a thing. Or maybe I’m sick to my stomach because I’ve been sipping gin and juice with Snoop Dogg all morning. Whatever. Now the dream is dead and I have no one to blame but… Barbara Boxer? The Catholic Church? Rob Shuter? Really, I’m open to suggestions. In fact, I’d love to hear from you. Why don’t you call my party line and we can decide who to blame for my problems and chat about whatever else is on your dirty, dirty mind. Hot, live, disgraced girls are waiting to talk to you now!”


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