Bash Compactor: Fame, fame, fatal microfame

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“Let’s walk and talk,” said Misha Calvert, the driving force behind last week’s “Mr. and Miss Williamsburg” pageant, a project she took on as part of her community service for lifting beer from a deli. I was trying to pay attention to her assurances that the pageant wasn’t a rigged advertising gimmick, but what was going on next to us in the dressing room kept distracting me. This tall, buxom blonde, Lola Wakefield, was trying to swig Jack Daniels out of the bottle and change into a short, white, puffy crinoline party dress at the same time, but was stuck with the dress only half on. “Will you help me with this?” Gladly.

But first I had to ask Misha one last thing: “What’s with the MC? No one can understand a word he says.”

Misha started sweating missiles. “This fucking DJ is huge in Berlin!” she sputtered, “the crowd should be lucky to hear him mumble. So he did a little too much Xanax before the show and maybe a bunch of other stuff.”

The emcee, who goes by the name “Smurk,” came back into the dressing room for a smoke. He was wearing a plastic and rhinestone tie around his shirtless, emaciated chest. “We’re just trying to create a post-, post-, post-, post-, post-ironic world,” he said. Before he went back on stage he shared some sage advice with the aspiring beauty queens. “Nothing tastes as good as being skinny feels.”

Back on stage, the contestants were crunking as the winners were announced. The girl crowned Miss Williamsburg, C.J. Johnson, boasted the talent of shot-gunning a PBR and taking her panties off through an American Apparel “onesie.” She gave the losers the finger and told them they were “all so very alternative.” Lola Wakefield knocked the plastic crown off her head, and Johnson threatened to gouge her assailant’s eyes out.

Lola, what do you think of the winner? “She’s a slut and doesn’t even live here. She drove in from New Jersey.”
Judge Sarah Morrison, summed things up (after she declared that she was “way hotter” than the winner). The jaded, bicoastal hipster said, “These kids all want to find the next cool thing, but like, it’s not here anymore. Just get it over with and move to Jersey City, you know.” Oh, is that where Morrison rests her head? “No, Williamsburg.”

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