The Miss USA pageant is tonight, and will be hosted by AC Slater, who has been dead to me for almost a year now. You all know by now that I had a problem with Miss NC being from Garner. Well, it appears that Garner is now claiming two Miss USA contestants, Miss North Carolina and Miss Pennsylvania, as their own.
“Two women who have been Miss Garner will be contestants in the Miss America pageant later this month in what apparently is a first for the competition. Garner residents are pulling for both women, Harold Garner said in a news release. “Once a Garner girl, always a Garner girl,” he said. “We’ll cheer for everybody.””
At first, I thought there might be something in the water, other than a lack of sanitation, in Garner. How could Garner produce not one, but two girls who are competing in the Miss USA pageant? Isn’t Miss NC just Garner’s “really-hot-girl-from-a-small-town-who-moves-to-the-big-city-and-marries-a-rich-guy”? Every small town in North Carolina has at least one attractive girl who moves to the “big city” in search of a wealthy guy who will provide her with the finer things. This small towner will leave behind her friends, family, and barnyard animals in order to marry someone with a beach house, luxury cars, and country club membership. I think some people refer to this as the “American Dream”. If someone is smart enough to gain what they want by taking advantage of another person then I’m all for it.
If you still aren’t familiar with this type of girl, think back to your freshman year of college. This is when you first encountered the small towner, who suddenly gained the attention of “city folk” who didn’t own farm equipment and could read on a 5th grade level. The small towner was shocked to find out that guys in college drove cars instead of tractors and drank top shelf liquor instead of back country moonshine. They were also amazed at the fact that we don’t have to make our own drugs in a trailer with a bunch of explosive chemicals. Realizing how easy it was to impress these girls, some of my friends began taking them on dates. Claiming it was “easy as shit” compared to taking a girl from inside the beltline on a date, they encouraged me to give one of these small towners a chance.
Since I’m easily influenced by others, I listened to my friends and took a small towner on a date a few years ago. I don’t like discussing this terrible event, but I’ll provide a brief description of the date just so no one ever makes this mistake again. I knew my Dad would kill me, or even worse, cancel my credit cards, if he found out I was taking a small towner out to dinner. I had to take her to a place where she wouldn’t stand out and draw attention to us. I decided on the Angus Barn, not because it’s a high-class restaurant, but because I was hoping that she would blend in with the atmosphere (the gun collection, country store, etc.) of the restaurant. I figured this would make her feel more at home and would keep her from embarrassing me. I was wrong. While it was “easy as shit” to impress this girl, the date itself was a disaster. Instead of spending a few hours taking bottles of wine to the face before going to Felson’s, the date was like a heavyweight fight between the small towner and the high-class restaurant. There was no way the underdog small towner was going to outlast the heavily favored high-class restaurant, and I was forced to watch every blow from my ringside seat across the table.
Round 1: We arrived at the restaurant and were seated. When she asked, “Why do they have sheets on this table?” (referring to the tablecloth) I knew it was going to be a long night so I quickly ordered a liquor drink. I began to eat the cheese and crackers that were on the table and had to explain to her that not all cheese comes from a can. She grabbed the wine list and asked where the dollar menu was. “There isn’t one, and that’s the wine list,” I replied. It became obvious that the Drive-Thru menu was the only menu the girl had ever ordered from when she asked where we were supposed to go to order and where the window was that we would pick our food up from. I told her this wasn’t that kind of restaurant, which made her assume we were at the only other type of restaurant she’d ever been to. She immediately stood up and said, “Well why didn’t you say so? Where’s the buffet at?” before attempting to carry her plate around the restaurant in search of food. I managed to get her seated before she drew any attention to herself and, more importantly, to me. “Look, the waiter will come ask us what we want, I’ll tell him, and he’ll bring the food out when it’s ready,” I explained. Not letting her speak to others was my best chance of getting out of there unscathed. “I can order by myself,” she said. I decided to allow her to order, which was a huge mistake. The waiter arrived and she attempted to read the menu. “I’ll have the chicken fingers with fries and a corndog, thank you very much,” she stated proudly. “Ma’am that’s the children’s menu, and we don’t serve corndogs,” the waiter said as he looked to me for help. “Christ, she’ll have the 10 ounce filet mignon with a bottle of red wine. I’ll have a side salad, and another double gin and tonic,” I said as I checked to make sure the nearby patrons didn’t hear her failed attempt at ordering. The waiter hesitated, “Sir, what will you be having for your entrée?” “A fuckin’ side salad, and another double gin and tonic, did I stutter? Having a steak is only going to get in the way of me getting blackout,” I replied. Winner of Round 1: high-class restaurant.
Round 2 began when the salads were brought out. These “pretty leaves” as she called them delivered quite a blow since the small towner had no idea which fork to use. She had obviously never attended cotillion. Watching her try to find the salad fork was like watching me try to find my dignity after a night at Felson’s, it just wasn’t going to happen. The waiter then tried to show her the bottle of wine that I was making her drink. I stopped him immediately, knowing that the process of her sampling the wine would only lead to more embarrassment. Too late, he had already poured a small amount into her glass for her to taste. She took it like a shot and asked if she could “try another flavor”. Unbelievable. “What are you doing?! This isn’t Baskin Robbins,” I said. I looked at the waiter, “Fill up her glass, and bring me another double gin and tonic….now.” Winner of Round 2: high-class restaurant.
Somehow she made it to the main course, which only got worse. During the main course she kept trying to talk to me about how much she loved her family and her willingness to accept new things, which really got in the way of me getting hammered. I couldn’t figure out why the small towner wasn’t talking about her sorority, the most recent episodes of the shitty television shows she watches on MTV, or how her parents gave her a two week vacation to Italy as an “end of the semester gift”. The small towner didn’t bring up any of the topics I’m used to hearing about and it was then that I realized how much easier it is to take a girl from inside the beltline on a date. All I have to do is talk about other ITB people we both know, pretend to listen to her when she’s bitching about how she has to “work” at the boutique clothing store for a few hours on a Saturday (which means she will have worked a total of 15 hours over the course of an entire week), go over my plans to re-route the beltline, then take her to Felson’s and feed her jager bombs until she can’t walk. That clearly wasn’t going to work tonight. Fortunately, we had finished dinner and were ready to leave. The small towner did the strangest thing at the end of the meal when she asked the waiter for a “to-go” box. She used what I could only assume was some sort of back country hick talk when she referred to the food that I hadn’t finished as “leftovers”. “We can have this for lunch tomorrow,” she said as she deposited the extra food into a small box. I had no idea what she planned on doing with these “leftovers” but I already knew I wasn’t going to be around tomorrow to find out. There’s no way she expected me to eat it later, since saving food from a restaurant completely defeats the purpose of having an in-house chef. Winner of Round 3 and still heavyweight champ…… the high-class restaurant.
I learned my lesson and will never make that mistake again. To this day I still think my friends were just hoping that someone I knew would see me in public with the small towner. Now that we understand what a small towner is, you can see why I thought having one represent Miss NC was a travesty. Having TWO from Garner was even worse. No small town has ever produced TWO “really-hot-girl-from-a-small-town-who-moves-to-the-big-city-and-marries-a-rich-guy”. So when I read the above article I knew something was wrong. That was until I stumbled upon this shocking fact;
“Actually, both Watson and Perry are from Raleigh. With a population of about 25,000, Garner lives in the shadow of neighboring Raleigh and might seem an odd launching pad for pageant queens. But like many local pageants, the Miss Garner contest is not limited to town residents; it is open to women from Wake, Johnston, Orange, Durham and Vance counties.”
Let’s go over that one more time. “Actually, both Watson and Perry are from Raleigh.” This changes everything. Amanda, now that I know you’re from Raleigh, I take back everything I ever said about you (but not about Garner, that’s still a huge shit hole). I just don’t understand why you allow them to claim you as one of their own? You’re just confusing the simple minded residents,
“”The people of Garner embrace Miss Garner. They’re proud of the program,” said Harold Garner, executive director of the Miss Garner Scholarship Pageant. The fortuitously named Mr. Garner has been helping with the pageant for 40 years.”
What part of “Both Watson and Perry are from Raleigh” does Harold not understand? Leave it to this dipshit to ignore the facts and claim these girls as his own. The mayor chimed in as well to give his opinion,
“This is certainly a special time for the Town of Garner,” said Mayor Ronnie Williams. “Earlier this year, Butterball opened up their brand new corporate headquarters in Garner, and more and more businesses are taking note of our location and amenities. Garner is definitely getting national attention.”
Butterball, it doesn’t get any more special than that. The only way Garner residents are going to believe these girls are from Raleigh is if they hear “Raleigh……you are the father” from Maury Povich, since all he does is paternity test episodes*. Fortunately, the Miss USA website lists Amanda’s hometown as Raleigh. All I can say is good luck to Miss NC. Now that I know you’re from Raleigh and can claim you as my own, you better win this shit. Even if you don’t win Miss USA, I’m still willing to take you out on a real date. Let me know when you’re free and I’ll see if I can fit you into my busy schedule of getting blackout and not contributing to society.
*Why does Maury only do paternity test episodes now? While it is highly entertaining to watch trailer park residents lose their shit when they find out “they are the father”, I’m sure the other trailer park residents that watch Maury are tired of seeing the same paternity test episodes every day. If you would just offer some variety in your show, these commoners wouldn’t be forced to spend their welfare checks on expensive satellite cable packages.
Wawongwiju: The words what’s wrong with you? said very fast and with a heavy Chinese accent.
Example: You paid him fifty dollars for a sheet of paper?Wawongwiju?
Also for the Garnerese
waggot: A waggot is the name given to someone who really annoys you.
Example: Maurice, you are a complete waggot.
Time for Daddy’s lawyers to turn their attention to a new subject:
http://www.ncleg.net/Sessions/2009/Bills/Senate/PDF/S46v0.pdf
Bye WNF!!