Miss Buttcrack

I work as a pageant coach, which means that rich people hire me to turn their nasty little brats into beauty queens. I have a list for you of some of the fabulous job moments I have encountered:

One young lady asked me to punch her in the nose so insurance would cover a nose job.  She didn't think she could win any titles with the perfectly fine nose she already had on her face.

Another one made me feel her breast implants to see if I thought they felt real.  I told her they most certainly did.  I was lying.

One brilliant girl was going to use bleach as a mouthwash to whiten her teeth.  Luckily I caught her before she burned and posioned herself.

One set of parents were so convinced their daughter could sing when in reality she sounded like a dying screech owl.  I tried to gently steer them away from the idea of singing as her talent, but they would have none of it.  They blamed me and bad mouthed me within the pageant circuit when darling daughter bombed in her talent portion.

One Miss America hopeful thought she was above everyone else after she won Miss Buttcrack or Miss Fruitcake or one of the other millions of meaningless pageants.  After that, I was only allowed to speak to her when spoken to.  If I spoke first, she called her parents to have them ream me out. 

I have vaselined teeth, Preparation H-ed eye bags, put makeup that has the consistency of spackle all over contestants legs, and glued bathing suits to butts.

The money is good, so I put up with it.

Now I have to go spackle my butt, vaseline my eyes, Preparation H my teeth and glue my legs to a bathing suit. Wait, do I have that wrong?

A big pageant wave to PageantPrepper!