The new Miss USA

The manager of the safari camp is hoping that the news Miss USA will visit us.

“Just think of all the publicity we’d get,” he says. “We could film her eating a banana in the swimming pool.”

I scratch my neck pensively. To be honest, I’m not sure whether having her here will be good for our image. On the plus side, Miss Rima Fakih has a degree in economics, which will counter the erroneous belief that women who eat bananas in swimming pools are airheads. On the minus side, she is the winner of a pole dancing competition, which is not a pastime we would wish to encourage in the Congo. Behaviour of that sort distracts the men and confuses the baboons.

Another cause for concern is the
cloud of controversy that engulfed this year’s Miss USA pageant. The muttering and harrumphing began when the contestants distributed revealing photos of themselves in seductive lingerie. Many fans protested that this betrayed the core values of the competition. I see their point. An event in which nubile young women wiggle their bottoms on stage should not be cheapened by the wanton flaunting of flesh. Anyone would think they were trying to influence the judges by making them horny.

I detect the sinister hairpiece of Donald Trump behind it all. He who pays the piper decides which pipe is blown. His response to the complaints was incredibly mealy-mouthed and evasive:

“I think the girls have gone maybe a little over the top this year,” he waffled.

Over the top of what? – the hedge outside his mansion? – the vaulting horse in his gymnasium? – the stuffed rhino in his bedroom? When a hard-headed entrepreneur starts using ambiguous language you can be sure that funny business is going on behind the scenes. Someone should shake Trump by the lapels until he confesses. Owning the store doesn’t entitle him to stick his hand in the candy jar whenever he wants.

Many people disapprove of beauty pageants on principle. I have a lot of sympathy for their position. What does the title of Miss USA really tell you about a woman? I’ve seen pictures of Miss Fakih and I’m damned if I can say what put her ahead of her rivals. Judging a woman as a package doesn’t make sense unless you’re going to marry her.

These competitions should be run like an athletics meeting, with specialist events for the diverse talents on display. Multiple queens could be crowned for excelling in different qualities – Miss Cutie for the prettiest face; Miss Chest for the perkiest boobs; Miss Buns for the nicest behind; Miss Hoochie for the girl most likely to sleep with Charlie Sheen. Picking out one contestant as the most beautiful is unfair to the others and too big a burden for the winner. Imagine having to act the like flower of your nation’s womanhood for a whole year, pouting for the cameras and holding in your farts. I certainly wouldn’t enjoy it.

I think I’ll send a telegram to Miss Fakih congratulating her on her coronation and advising her to behave with discretion. The title of Miss USA is regrettably a man-ho magnet, and I’d hate to think of some conceited dandy adding her to the notches on his bedpost. A woman who takes the name of her country must mercilessly shoot down intruders who enter her airspace.

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