2005-06-10 - 6:14 p.m.

September, 2004. It is announced that Clay Aiken would again be performing on the Miss America Pageant. (and the cries of joy and happiness filled the nation!) Someone more clever than me at the LBFCA site decided that maybe we should have our very own pageant. We all shared our amazing talents in the guestbook pages. I can’t find my post, but I believe my talent was Multi-Tasking. I was going to cook scrambled eggs and cheese, download some Clack, and give Clay a lapdance at the same time.

Now, I’ll admit I don’t look that great in a bathing suit and I don’t look much better in an evening gown. My talent is clearly impressive, but of course, the Miss America Pageant is above all else a scholarship pageant. I really needed a kickass platform in order to win that scholarship to Aiken University. Who knew I’d take down my good pals, Wendy and Erin, in the process? And Nick? Poor Nick. This skit was just the beginning of what would prove to be a long relationship of vicariously torturing the Assistant to Mr. Aiken.

(a little fyi: I have a pretty nice ass, which partly explains the name of this site. Clay seems to like nice asses, so that makes me feel good. However, he seems to like nice boobs even better. That makes me feel bad. It probably makes Erin feel good, though. Teehee. Silly Erin covered up her nice assets when she held up an LBFCA sign at a concert and found her picture in the on-line edition of Rolling Stone magazine. Wendy has a smoking bod altogether, which she shows off to its best advantage in her high-heeled shoes. Or at least she did the day I met her. She’d like nothing better than to get Clay into her kitchen and teach him a few tricks of her trade. Also, um, I have this fantasy of, um, banging Clay against a brick wall, er, um, well him banging me, actually. Carry on.)

I don’t know if it’s been determined who the emcee for the LBFCA pageant will be, so I’ve assigned Nick to this role. Because as cute and nice as he seems, I have no desire to do him (well, his dorky dance moves got to me a little.)

Nick: So we’re back to hear the platform of our next contestant, Miss Ionary Position….? Hang on, you look like Miss British Columbia.

Eeyore: Well, that name didn’t quite fit on my sash, so I shortened it from 19 letters to 18. Besides which, 18 is an even number. Like 400. Or even 500. *raises her eyebrows in Clay’s direction* ::Clay smacks self on forehead::

Nick: So why didn’t you just shorten your name to Miss B.C.? That’s still even.

Eeyore: I did that for rehearsal, and where most of us would recognize the initials for what they are, Clay just saw them as bra sizes. And he got the most confused look on his face, trying to determine whether it was one or both, or possibly neither. So he just kept staring at my chest. While normally I don’t mind this, I could live without the looks of confusion and disappointment. Hang on. *turns around slowly* Good. He’s focused again.

Nick: I’m still a little confused. Why don’t you tell us about your platform?

Eeyore: That’s the beauty. My name is my platform. I am my platform. And Clay can feel free to mount my platform anytime. You see, my position was once revered throughout most cultures, but it’s fallen on hard times. Nowadays, people are trying to push the envelope and experiment with new positions. Hanging from tree limbs? Banging against brick walls? Oh sure, that’s fine for fantasy. But you could sustain a serious injury. In real life, only a crazy, er, enthusiastic daredevil would attempt such things. *Clay looks intrigued and shifts slightly uncomfortably in his seat*

Nick: Uh…..(whispers) you still have thirty seconds to fill.

Eeyore: (whispers back) Do I hafta talk or can I just turn around again?

Nick: (glances at Jerome) You better talk.

Eeyore: (clears throat) Furthermore, my position is all about giving. And giving is a gift you give to others. And yourself. We all know it’s better to give than to receive. But did you know that when you give, you also receive? Gifts. From others. And sometimes from yourself. Giving and receiving. Many gifts. *nervously looks around at the confusion, so makes one more slow turn on stage* And let me add that I’d really like to spread for piece throughout the land.

Nick: Thank you, Miss Ionary Position…..*looks flustered as he sees Clay ably carrying the former Miss British Columbia toward the brick wall backstage* We’ll be back with more contestants after this commercial break.

And we return to the pageant stage, where Clay is roped and tied to his swivel chair, Nick is working up a sweat (and not in a good way), and Miss Florida is addressing the audience....

Wendy: So you can see that shoes really are a fabulous platform. There’s really nothing you can’t do in a good high kickass pair of platform shoes. I call them the multi-tasker’s best friend. There’s no better footwear for concerts, even when the only way into the arena is down 50 steep stairs. And why wear cowboy boots on the ranch when the right pair of platforms are just as useful and so much more comfortable? The balance and support are perfect for dancing, cooking, and roping your favourite stallion simultaneously. *does her best Price is Right move to showcase Clay*

Nick: Well, thank you, Miss Florida. A most interesting platform. (sighs) Now please untie Clay. ::Clay glares at Nick:: Um, I mean Mr. Aiken.

Wendy unties Clay with her teeth and struts offstage with a gleaming, satisfied smile and two spatulas.

Nick: (spying a third spatula on the floor) Um, yeah, I’m not touching that.

Jerome comes over and picks up the spatula with his gloved hand, quickly jots something down in his notebook, and takes the microphone from Nick.

Jerome: Let me remind the broads once again that you are not to bring any cellphones, recording devices, handheld utensils, or any other electronic appliances onto the stage.

Nick: Okay, we have time to hear from one more contestant before the break. Hmmm, I didn’t notice this name before. Please welcome Mis Calculate to the stage. (leads the applause) My, how lovely you look in your gown. *stares at her luscious ass, notices Clay’s territorial glare, and nervously clears his throat* But your bucket hat seems to be hiding your face. Let’s see the beauty which lurks beneath the disguise. Oh. no. Not you again. I recognize you, Miss British Columbia. Or Miss Ionary Position, whatever name you go by. You’ve already stated your platform, and caused quite a disruption in the proceedings.

Eeyore: But that’s the whole point. I stated my platform without realizing I was sadly misguided and misinformed. *mutters to self that either of those would have been excellent pageant names* And Clay very masterfully showed me the error of my ways. When I stated that positions other than missionary were reckless and crazy, er, overly enthusiastic, and best left to fantasy, Clay showed me that fantasy IS the best reality. *mutters to self that THAT would have been an even more excellent platform* So I had to shift my position a little *sends a knowing glance to Clay*.

Nick: So what is your new position?

Eeyore: Not missionary, I can tell you that. No, I’ve decided to go back to my first love, mathematics. See with the name Mis Calculate, I’m not trying to tell people what TO do, but rather what NOT to do. I can be very clever that way.

Nick: Maybe a little too clever for me. (lets out a resigned, yet curious sigh) So what’s the proper position for mathematics?

Eeyore: Well, math isn’t as much about position as it is about dimension and proper measurement. I think it’s crucial that people from all walks of life appreciate the importance of accurate calculations. And I would like to lead the nation in spreading the JOY of numbers. For how many among us see 13.5 as just a number? Nay, we all see it as a thing of beauty to be worshipped on our knees. And if I say 73", broads all begin to swoon in its wonder and magnificence. *several broads swoon* Well, let me be the first to say that WE NEED MORE NUMBERS. Yes, we have some good estimates in previously uncharted territory, but we need the warm, hard facts. Solid numbers which provide us with more opportunities to drop our jaws and drool uncontrollably. And with my scholarship to Aiken U, I plan to lead the research team in the collection of these numbers. I just happen to have my measuring tape with me....

*Jerome rushes the stage and hauls Mis Calculate out of there, while Clay pouts a little, and Nick looks like he’s about to hurl*

*Yedi comes onstage to fix the toppled mic stand as we cut to commercial break....*

Cutting back again to the pageant stage, where Miss Georgia is showing Nick pictures and newspaper clippings of some of her prouder moments....

Nick: I told you, these are all very impressive. But the judges really need to hear your platform. Please.

Erin: I can get you copies, y’know. (looks at Nick, sighs, and takes back her papers). Ready. Okay. My platform is: Bigger is ALWAYS Better. (clears throat and waits for opening sounds from the theme of 2001: A Space Odyssey) SIZE. What is it? Who determines it? For instance, is Small a size? (laughs dismissively) No. If anything, it’s a LACK of size. Well, I’d rather have a SACK of size, ifyouknowwhati’msayin’. (laughs at her clever phrase and continues in time with the music)

Medium? Not a size. In fact, medium is the singular of MEDIA. Y’know, newspapers, radio, internet. These are all media which you can use to showcase your talents to the world at large *winks*. So while a Medium may have some importance, it’s not a size.

Large. Definitely a size. Did you see the large sign I was holding on Rolling Stone’s website? I have extra copies. Oh, that’s right. Y’all got one on your way in. (laughs, sighs, and lingers for a dramatic pause)

Extra Large. Say it with me, broads. Extra. Large. (her voice and bosom swell with the music) Whether you’re talking packages or peaches, bigger is ALWAYS better. Why, let’s all look at my peaches for an example. Definitely luscious, ripe, and succulent. But most important, extra. large. *walks toward Clay who is positively salivating*

TV cuts to stock footage of puppies and kittens....15 minutes later and we’re back to the broad pageant stage, where Nick seems to be on the verge of tears....

Nick: I swear, this wasn’t in my contract.

Clay takes a crumpled paper out of his pocket, unfolds it, and holds it up for the camera: NICK’S JOB DESCRIPTION: WHATEVER MR. AIKEN TELLS HIM TO DO. Nick’s signature is clearly at the bottom. Clay glares, and shoves the contract back into his pocket.

Nick: (whining) This has been going on for practically the entire day. (sighs and collects himself) Well, at least it looks like we’re down to our final finalist. Again, a name I don’t recognize. Mis Direction. Please come out and show us your platform.

A broad wearing pajama pants, flip-flops, a fedora, and a hoodie comes out on stage.

Nick: Well, this is unusual. Most of the contestants come out in their evening wear.

Eeyore: (muffled voice) This IS evening wear. Your boss said so.

Nick: (looks at Clay and nods in understanding) Riiiight.

Eeyore: And let me just say that although my butt may look medium in size, compared to Clay’s, it’s definitely large. *sticks tongue out at Erin*

Nick: Whoa, hang on, hang on. I recognize that Canadian accent. It’s you again, Miss British Columbia! Get off the stage. You’ve already had your turn.

Eeyore: Well, I beg to differ. I tried to get off on stage, but I was rudely interrupted. I really must be allowed to finish.

Nick: No, you’ve had more than your share of opportunities....

Eeyore: (grabbing Nick by the lapel) I said, "I. must. finish." Remember this, Nick. The woman must ALWAYS finish. You’ll thank me for this later. (releasing him)

Nick: (looks toward Jerome, who indicates with his gestures that he’s way too busy randomly enforcing rules, posing for pictures, and collecting gifts for Clay to possibly be able to come to Nick’s assistance) Okay, okay. You can state your platform. Just please quit talking in riddles.

Eeyore: What? Do I confuse you, Nick?

Nick: A little.

Eeyore: But I’m here now to talk about direction. Not those confusing worldly directions like North and West. (glances at Clay who shifts uncomfortably in his seat) But two very simple, yet quite opposite directions. Left and right. You do know the difference between left and right, don’t you, Nick?

Nick: Well, I used to think I did.

Eeyore: (flirtatiously) What do you mean?

Nick: Well, when I first started working for, uh, Mr. Aiken, he stressed to me how important it was that the lei and t-shirt be delivered to stage-right before the show. And I know I was putting them to the right side of the stage, but somehow I kept getting it wrong. So he explained to me that stage-right means the rightside from the performer’s perspective. When you’re facing the stage, it’s like the total opposite or something. *Eeyore is now right next to Nick, and is gently touching his arm. Clay looks most distressed, so she gives him a nod and wink from around Nick’s back* So, like, that would be left.

Eeyore: The perspective IS different from onstage, isn’t it?

Nick: Oh, totally. Like now, we’re on the right, but the audience thinks we’re on the left.

Eeyore: (stroking his arm) You know, I’ve seen you onstage before.

Nick: (backing away a little) Yeah, you’ve been up here like five times today.

Eeyore: No, I meant back on the tour. During Cherie’s last night. You were dancing. It was kinda hot, I have to admit. (shoots Clay a look that says, "Trust me on this.")

Nick: Um, yeah, there was a lot of energy that night.

Eeyore: Nick, am I making you nervous?

Nick: (gulps) A little.

Eeyore: (very seductively) Well, I think there’s some bottled water behind you. Why don’t you get some? I’ll wait right here.

Nick turns around to get some water, while at the same instant, an older attractive broad in the audience stands up (while her sash says Miss Conception, she’s later revealed to be Mama Eeyore) and starts taking video with an antique camcorder. This attracts Jerome’s immediate attention, so he takes off in a mad sprint toward the rebel broad. She in turn makes a run toward the side exit, never thinking her artificial hip could carry her so quickly. The broads in the audience turn toward the commotion, clapping and squealing in delight. Onstage, Nick finally turns around from grabbing his water, and realizes that Clay and Eeyore have gleefully exited by the backstage door. He follows the sound of their flip-flops, pausing briefly for an AHA! moment as he realizes what "Mis Direction" actually meant. He and a handful of broads exit the same door, and see the tour bus parked right outside.

They stop dead in their tracks, for they all know rule number two, which starts with, "When the Bus is a-Rockin’...." And they respect that rule. They sigh in unison and head back to the ranch. The camera, however, follows a trail of flip-flops and pajama pants toward the largest, lushest cherry tree, where Mr. Aiken and Mis Direction are dangling from a limb, and carrying on like the two hot monkeys they’ve always been.

The camera pans back toward the bus where it’s revealed that Sarge and Miss Conception are enthusiastically comparing their surgical scars and engaging in a rousing round of full-contact Scrabble.

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