Take me to your dealer

Today, in the gym I was forced to watch a ten minute interview with Miss Universe, Miss Puerto Rico. She had a freakish broad grin/smile/grimace on her face and she held it through the entire interview. It was frightening to behold. She was grinning and speaking simultaneously. On occasions she’d relax the grimace into some kind of a half smile before turning it right back on and giving the interviewers and the helpless audience (me) an unimpeded view of those choppers.

The title, Miss Universe is a bit strange don’t you think? I’m reasonably sure that there are billions of planets in the universe other than planet Earth. It is more than likely that a few of them harbour intelligent life. It is quite possible that the intelligent life may have two or more sexes. One of which could be given the title “Miss”.

But were any of these alien misses at the pageant?
No.

Were they afforded a chance to parade out in ball gowns or in swim suits and make up stories about how they’d like to help the orphans, eradicate poverty, eliminate hunger and do the rest of that good stuff?
No.

The really cannot call it Miss Universe if the rest of the Universe isn’t taking part? (That would be as silly as claiming to be world champions if you win a tournament in which the rest of the world does not take participate.) Heck, I’d be willing to allow it to stand if a couple more planets were involved. They needn’t be from this Solar System. (We all know that the Martians are a nasty bunch.). Send out a multi-directional radio signal letting the universe know about the idiocy…pageant. I’m certain that somewhere out there, there is a species, one that contains members who would enjoy being anorexic and half naked in front of an audience of…Two Hundred Thousand Million Billion Trillion semi-sentient beings (Too lazy to look up actual viewership numbers for the pageant.)

They could share with us touching stories about their childhood, which depending on the species might involve them exploding from the gestatory (not a real word) pod on the mother ship, or chasing down wild Helium Creatures on the sixth moon of their home planet. It will bring the species together. And maybe it will be interesting. Maybe one species is the other’s natural prey. Or maybe a couple of species may chemically interact with each other to create a large oddly coloured pile of goo.

I don’t know. The possibilities are fucking endless. Think of the ratings. A multi-species audience. Advertising revenues. Sure, it’s hard to sell dehydrated rocks to human, but on BetaBlugeNnosMosPoobah V they are a delicacy. Much like heroin right here on earth. Human censors would no longer be an issue. Wardrobe malfunctions do not matter if the part of the anatomy that was covered by that part of the wardrobe looks like a washing machine or a small tree. Or a small tree with Washing Machine Fruit…That last one could be freaky I suppose.

This is a sound business proposal. I hope that someone is reading and taking these ideas to heart.

And this is not an option. It needs to happen now. Because, I’m pretty sure that the television signals from the pageant have reached our alien neighbours. (Yes, they may be a billion light years away, but the laws of physics were torn asunder by the laws of people blogging at one in the night after three days of very, very little sleep. The signals used a convenient worm hole and hitched a ride on a passing space battle cruiser/GalactEX package delivery ship to get to the alien neighbours. Let’s call them the Shampoo. Because calling them the Butterscotch would be so inappropriate.)

The Shampoo are probably a proud, martial people. With vast fleets of faster than light battle ships capable of destroying the earth, in much the same way that I demolish a tub of ice cream. (Missiles, spoons. Tom-ay-to, tom-ah-to).

They’d capture the signals, watch the pageant, figure out that Ms (Really M!szr#@*3) Shampoo ‘3790 wasn’t asked to participate and be fucking pissed off. Earth would be doomed. This cannot be allowed to happen. So invite Ms (Really M!szr#@*3) Shampoo ‘3790 to the pageant. It is a win-win situation for everyone. Hell, we might as well objectify alien females along with our own.

Yeah, so apparently she fainted. I’m not surprised. Maintaining that grimace probably burns a great deal of energy. Probably enough to fuel a fleet of faster than light battleships.