When the tryouts were held to find the next Dee-Lux Hosiery glamour model, it quickly became clear to the selection committee that the next competition should be moved to a city with more than one hair stylist. And more than one family. Still, they had a job to do and they might as well get the interview segment over with so they could go drink away their pain in a bar where everybody knows your shame.

Melvin the Moderator: “Okay, ladies. Let’s chat a little bit. Tell us why you think we should support your desire to support our support hose. We’ll start on the left. And keep it brief. Happy Hour ends at 7pm.”

Contestant #1: “Oh. Is it me? Am I on the left? Well, um, I don’t know what to say except I’ve always wanted to be a fashion model and I can reach things on high shelves and I think you’re really cute!”

Melvin: “Wrong tree, wrong barking. Next.”

Contestant #2: “I have led a life of purity and I feel this makes me the best candidate to represent feminine ideals of beauty. I had a vison one night, after eating an especially ripe banana, and Mary Magdalene herself appeared to me and she said ‘I’ve been near some pretty important feet and yours are quite spectacular so you should base your career on them’. And since I’m a virgin just like her, I knew she wouldn’t lie to me and-”

Melvin: “Next.”

Contestant #3: “Well, I ain’t no virgin, that’s for sure. And those gals behind me ain’t gals, if you get the way I’m spittin’. That thing rubbin’ up against my behind right now don’t have nothin’ to do with no double-X chromosome or whatever you call it. And I got the purtiest makeup of anyone up in this here line, don’t ya think?”

Melvin: “No. Next.”

Contestant #4: “I don’t think Contestant #1 tried hard enough with the sultry angle, so let me give it a run. I know how to bark like a man wants. I’m a volcano about to blow and you’re the only one who can plug me.”

Melvin: “Perhaps the fact that I’m a judge in a beauty pageant has not made things clear. I’m gay. So is my husband who, I can assure you, understands plugging much more than you. Perhaps you’ll have better luck with Henriette on the far end of our panel of judges. She doesn’t care what the volcano looks like as long as the lava flows. Next.”

Contestant #5: “I’m only here because my momma made me be here because she never made it as a model and now she uses me to live the life she never had even though it means I don’t have a life because I don’t want to be a model but she controls my inheritance and sometimes I have really bad thoughts about how to make her stop, really really bad thoughts and… yeah, that’s all.”

Melvin: “Well, our health insurance doesn’t cover pre-existing crazy, even though the narcissism in this industry could obliterate the planet, so maybe this isn’t quite the right path for you. Have you considered a career in politics? Next.”

Contestant #6: “I’m not really trying out. I was just looking for the bathroom and then your little friend over there pulled out his camera. I’m all about the photo-bomb. Nothing gives me more joy than trying to hijack a situation and make it all about me. The last name is Trump, by the way, in case you need that for your paperwork. Vladimira Trump.”

Melvin: “How quaint. Alternative fashion. Next.”

Contestant #7: “Mexican for lunch. Can’t breathe.”

Melvin: “Well, then. That wraps things up. I can’t speak for the rest of the panel, but my vote goes to the woman on the far right who isn’t even looking at us and we can’t see her legs because somebody else’s legs are blocking hers. It somehow seems fitting, since most advertising efforts in this country are based on things that are completely pointless and devoid of research or meaning. Thoughts?”

Henrietta on the far end: “That depends. Is she free this evening? Because I’m all about the lava-bomb…”

Somewhere in another state, a certain mother sighs despondently over what her writer son has become. She had such high hopes, especially when her own insurance company began covering pre-existing crazy. But it was too little, too late, especially when the insurance premiums became ridiculous and she let the policy lapse. Thusly, Bonnywood was born…

Previously published in “Crusty Pie” (short version) and “Bonnywood Manor” (innuendo-filled extended version). Slight changes made for this post.

Cheers.