The Prejean Blues

How does one get from a pea-brained, bigoted nincompoop, who is currently having her 15 seconds of infamy, to pondering the shivers of cosmic loneliness ?

Just leave it to me.
I can wind up blabbering on about peering over the edge of the abyss from almost any starting point; be it an expose of yet more corporate cupidity and douchebaggery, or the social merits and ills of patchwork gatherings for senior citizens.
If my mood is foul and dark enough, I can pull it off.

However, this time I may actually - purely by accident and through no fault of my own - have a point.

For those of you who avoid that horrid sideshow euphemistically called “the news” even more diligently than I do, let me give you a brief overview of the nefarious facts as they come to us through our laptops and television sets.

A contestant in a beauty pageant makes, as is so often the case, a faux pas when trying to answer the obligatory question that is cunningly injected in the otherwise shameless T & A fest.
This is done so people whose moral compass is in the final stages of syphilitic decay will feel a bit better about themselves after ogling pretty girls marching up and down the stage.

Hey, don’t get me wrong. I like watching naked ladies as much as the next pervert, but why the pretense ?
It’s those fucking puritans again! Without them we could all be saying on camera what we are all thinking off camera; nice ass, girl!

Some overzealous writer for the pageant gave Carrie Prejean, -who looks conspicuously like that other oracle of our time, Jessica Simpson - a question about gay marriage ,and she answered that she didn’t agree with it due to her sound, Christian morals.

A big hullabaloo ensued; she didn’t win, lawyers came rushing to her defense, a sex tape featuring Carrie masturbating surfaced, she dropped her lawsuit, and now a book about her ordeal graces the shelves of Borders and Barnes.
Meanwhile, for reasons I can’t quite grasp, some of our brothers and sisters on the right have seen it fit to make her a martyr.
Saint Prejean; tied to the stake in a televised auto da fe, condemned by the high priests of godless Liberalism for taking a stand for Our way of life, Christian decency, Apple Pie and wholesome, all- American homophobia.
Yet it is hard to make out whether her moaning is brought on by pain or pleasure when one of her hands becomes untied and starts searching the pink folds between her thighs.

Well, why do I care about this mindless trollop?
Why does she get to me?

Some years ago I was sitting in the lobby of a magnificent hotel on the Boulevard Haussmann in Paris’ ninth arrondissement, sipping my favorite liquor,green Chartreuse.
I was waiting for my colleagues to finish washing the stink from the day’s tedious sales meetings off them before we could venture out into the grand-old city for dinner, drinks and laughs.
A woman, about fifty years of age, sat on the couch in front of me and she was utterly mesmerizing.
I could not keep myself from watching her and she didn‘t seem to mind. In fact,she liked the attention.
Although she would not be considered beautiful, or even pretty by beauty pageant standards, her entire presence demanded attention and awe.
Her every move was deliberate, graceful and fantastically erotic, and she had mastered the art of sitting still and not letting one’s eyes dart about; she was in control, confident without being arrogant, and gloriously feminine.
When an American business man with a goofy smile and an ill-fitting suit came to pick her up, my hunch about how she made a living was confirmed.
Lucky goofball. I would have paid good money just to watch her sit there for a while longer.


Her sublime eroticism comes to mind when I try to picture the antithesis of beauty queen Prejean, with her fake breasts and her fake smile and her fake indignation.

Carrie’s sex tape shouldn’t come as a surprise. For women, feigning pleasure is a very marketable commodity, as is feigning joy while prancing around in a bikini in front of strangers who take notes.
Her claim to having profound moral convictions is never truly questioned by the cable news pundits, whose intellectual bona fides are never questioned by the purveyors of abdominal exercise machines and toothpaste, who are their de facto employers, and who -just like our heroin- only care about ‘the bottom line‘.

People use what they have to get what they want.
Perhaps I just ought to accept that.
Maybe there is nothing unexpected about some hypocritical dimwit milking her shallow and vulgar morals, as well as her tits, to make a buck and buy a large house before she joins the Big Compost Heap that awaits us all, and perhaps I am too demanding of my fellow primates that I expect them to go through life we just a smidgen of dignity and honesty.