A Celebration Of Form

WorldNetDaily is worried that America’s beauty pageants are aren’t sufficiently Murican anymore what with your Muslims and your burkini’s and your whathaveyous.

ImNotPC asks the immortal question, “this is pretty much like what we did to the Native Americans but worse, right?” I mean, he didn’t come write out and say it (see what I did there) but that’s the crux of today’s DWP:

(I don’t know if it matters, but there’s a fair amount of cursing in this one)

“Ugh! This stuff is the worst to work with.” The knife slipped between Dell’s fingers and nicked a knuckle. “Damn it!” None of the other cooks paid him any attention; they were used to his bitching. Instead they kept their eyes down, focusing on the slop in front of them, a weird mixture of Earth vegetables, fish and several unidentifiable ingredients from beyond the stars. The recipes they were given were long, complicated and grueling to follow. The resulting dishes tasted foul but were nutritious enough for both humans and their newly-installed interstellar overlords.

Dell walked away from his station and began cleaning his cut in a sink. He wrapped a bandage around his finger and, while heading back to the pots simmering on his stove, stopped to turn up the volume on the small TV in the upper corner of the cramped, make-shift kitchen. “Look at that,” Dell said, forgetting about the pain. “Beauty pageant. God bless!”

Dell returned to sauteing and caramelizing, all the while maintaining a running monologue. “Here’s what I don’t get: those bastards take away our houses and make us live in these communal dorms. They destroy our churches, our schools. Damn it all to hell, we can’t even speak American when they’re around. It’s all ssshhhplok, hauck, xxxkah!” Dell exaggerated the string of silibant ‘s’s, bursts of hard consonants and wet, phlemgy hacks that characterized the human/invader pidgin language.

“We can’t even eat any real food anymore!” Dell looked at the black and roiling slop water that was spilling out of one of his pans, sighed, turned off the stovetop and dumped the mess into the waste bin. “But they leave our TV alone. We can watch anything we want. Hell, there’s less censorship now then ever. Tits and everything, right there in prime time! What gives?”

Dell finally shut up for a moment as he bent down to get a new pan. He retrieved it, set it on the stove and looked back up at the TV. “Seriously, look at that talent, man! I ain’t never seen pageant girls wear anything that skimpy before the invasion!” Dell took in the waving, smiling girls left to right stopping suddenly and glowering. “Jesus Christ! Will you look at that?” Amidst the human contenders was one of them, one of the invaders. It stood there, clad in its de rigueur black hood and cloak which bulged where it would have flown freely on a human and pinching in where it would otherwise have filled out. “What a crock o’ shit. No way. No way! This is too much, just too much!” None of the other cooks bothered to look.

“They took everything, everything else. And now they’re even taking away this. God damn it. Like, they’re saying it’s not okay to even look human. We have to learn to eat their foods, speak their language and look like them. Shit. And I bet it ain’t even going to show a bit of tentacle. Nope, not even a little peak.”

The other cooks cast a fair amount of side-eye at that.