There are many things that a Hollywood Starlet must do in order to be promoted to Hollywood Star, even if they don’t particularly relish those things. In this fine example, the powers that be are forcing Carole to appear enraptured by her potential Christmas gifts whilst wearing skimpy shorts and five-inch stilettos. Because nothing says “Happy Birthday, Jesus!” like the image of a badly-permed hooker… 

Photographer, sighing: “I’m really not getting what I need from you.”

Carole: “The feeling is mutual. Unlike the feeling in my feet, which I can no longer feel because of the bondage footwear. I just don’t understand what we’re doing. What’s my motivation in this scene?”

Photographer: “A paycheck. It really doesn’t get any deeper than that.”

Carole: “But who are these gifts from? Why should I be happy about getting them? What’s up with this stupid low-ass bench that nobody wearing stilettos would sit on in the first place?”

Photographer: “Look, those are questions you need to ask the people who hired us. Me? I don’t have any questions. I just want to get the shot and then get the money that will allow me to buy the hooch that I desperately need after dealing with people like you.”

Carole: “Now, see, that’s what I’m talking about. You have a purpose in this scene. I don’t. I need a purpose in order to perform my best work.”

Voice from offstage: “Can you folks wrap it up? I’ve got an underwear ad to shoot for Jockey.”

Carole: “Who the hell is that?”

Photographer: “That’s Clark Gable. You didn’t smell the ego?”

Carole: “No, but I smell a certain degree of dissatisfaction with his current marriage.”

Photographer: “Really? How did you get there?”

Carole: “It doesn’t matter. Call him over and we’ll see how excited I can get about surprise presents that suddenly show up. Then get your camera ready.”

Gloria Steinem, feminist extraordinaire, suddenly enters, stage left: “Sister! Don’t objectify yourself in the eyes of men!”

Carole: “Honey, you’re from the 1970s. This is 1932. The only way for us to have real power is to let the men think they have it, then we change the script while they aren’t looking.”

Hillary Clinton, politician extraordinaire, suddenly enters, stage left: “Actually, we still have to do that in 2022. But the times, they are a changin’.”

Bob Dylan, songsmith extraordinaire, suddenly enters from… well, you know: “Is this where they’re doing the underwear shoot? Sorry I’m late. Joan Baez was being especially clingy today and she wouldn’t let me leave until I opened her present. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with five-inch stilettos, but I can probably write a song about it later.”

Photographer: “I have no idea what’s happening right now or how to control it.”

Carole: “I know the feeling. But until the old white men finally lose their misogynistic power, you do what you have to do to gain just a little bit of progress.”

Donald Trump, from the control booth: “That’s fake news. The media lies! There was no collusion!”

Vladimir Putin, sitting surprisingly close: “Good doggie. Here, nibble on bone for reward. Chew hard, get hotel permit for Red Square!”

Gloria Steinem: “Both of you can get stuffed. Of course, since once of you two always bends over for the other, you probably won’t even notice the stuffing.”

Roasted Turkey on the craft services table: “Oh, he’ll notice. Trust me.”

Green Bean Casserole: “Why do so many people not trust in me? I can be really good, swear!”

The Gelatinous Cranberry Loaf: “Oh, don’t even start with your validation issues. Nobody’s taken a slice out of me since 1965.”

Bob Dylan: “That’s the year when I went electric!”

Hillary Clinton: “And by ‘electric’, do you mean ‘the drugs kicked in really hard’? Not that I would know about such things. That’s really Bill’s area of expertise. Why do you think his hair went gray so early?”

Martin Luther King Jr.: “And 1965 is the year Congress passed the Voting Rights Act, finally allowing most Americans to have an actual say in elections. Of course, that Act has since been gutted by an increasingly politicized Supreme Court. Still, it was a moment of hope.”

Gloria Steinem: “Wait, 1965 was also the year I burned my first bra. I didn’t know what I was doing and I may or may not have scorched some important buildings near me, but it was a pivotal moment in my life path.”

Joan Baez, suddenly appearing beside Bob Dylan: “Is that the night they burned Old Dixie down?”

Gloria: “I think you might be a bit off with those lyrics.”

Joan and Bob, joining hands and apparently moving beyond the questionable gifting of stiletto heels: “We’re never off with the lyrics. And how many records have you sold?”

Gloria: “Does it really matter who sold what? The important thing is who is buying what. And right now too many people in this country are buying the lies of a stuffed ex-president.”

Carole, clearing her throat for attention: “You guys might not remember me, but I was the focus of this story before things went off the rails and we had a cavalcade of confusing cameos. I’d really like to open this one gift that feels especially promising.”

Gloria and Hillary, joining hands and apparently moving beyond the questionable ownership of restrictive undergarments: “You go, girl!”

Carole went, ripping the wrapping and unfolding the flapping and peering inside the box: “Oh.”

Photographer, also mostly forgotten in the story until this point: “What is it?”

Carole: “Well, there’s a little card that says ‘Start here before you go anywhere else’. And then there’s this.”

She pulled out a mirror and held it up for everyone to see.

Previously published. Considerably revised and extended for this post. Yes, this one is loaded with trivia and obscure references, but would it really be Bonnywood if it wasn’t?