DanThat'sCool!

 

 

You heard me. Hold on to your hats and your panties, girls. The Z-Man is back.

 

 

 

 

 

OMG. It’s that boy from that show.

 

 

 

 

 

That Dad is totally checking me out, right? He can’t take his eyes off all this.

 

 

 

 

 

Oh. Hell. No.

 

 

 

 

 

 

ManCandy? Mama likes them Apples.

 

 

 

 

 

I know, right? It’s like this hat makes no sense whatsoever.

 

 

 

 

 

Drink up, Pookie. Then we’ll go meet with that nice man from the Pittsburgh Board of Health.

 

 

Where’s all my girls at?

They better be practicing in Studio A, cuz there’s boyz in the hizzle and they ain’t playing.  No, sir.  They don’t play.

They’re here to spin it and win it.

It was Dance Moms doping this week when their arch rival injected Bboy enhancing testosterone into four bite-sized Captain America super soldiers and unleashed a totally girl-free team straight up in the judges’ faces.

Because judges eat that s*** up with a spoon.

But first, The Pyramid of Shame.

Needless to say, after coming in a whopping 4th Place at last week’s competition, the mood during the military lineup was a little gloomy.  Everyone was nervous about how well Abby Lee Miller was going to handle coming in 3 notches below the top spot.

Let’s just say she didn’t handle it well, and keep this thing moving.

This week they were headed to Voorhees, NJ for the On Stage America competition, and 4th Place wasn’t going to cut it this time around.

Bottom floor of the Pyramid was reserved for Mackenzie, Maddie, Paige and Nia.

MackAttack was cut from the group number again.  Poor little noodle, she can’t seem to catch a break lately.  She’s in.  She’s out.  She’s too young.  She’s old enough now.

She’s also related to her Mom Melissa, who is currently on Abby’s Naughty Girl list, so that probably had as much to do with her current low standing as her signature circus flips did.  Maddie also shares the same DNA, and since Abby had grown tired of poking Kelly with a stick, she has apparently moved on to Melissa’s family.

Paige was also on the bottom because apparently Abby wasn’t quite as tired of poking Kelly with a stick as I had originally thought.  My bad.

Nia was on the bottom just because.  It wasn’t really explained very well, but it did give Holly time to make one of her delightful MomFaces.  OhNoSheDin’t.

Second row was all about Kendall and Chloe.  No surprises.  Except for when Jill did a handstand and three somersaults to celebrate her kid finally making it out of the basement.  When she stood back up her hair still looked the same, though.

The top spot reveal was a blank piece of white paper, not Brooke‘s face as many Vegas oddsmakers had predicted.  I’m going to assume that somewhere along the line a production intern must have misplaced Brooke’s headshot, because the poor girl hasn’t been taped up on the mirror for most of this season.  Since none of the Moms ever put down their iPhones, you’d think someone would have the sense to snap a quick photo just so Miss Hyland can play along with the other girls.  But, whatever.

Then I thought that maybe the blank sheet was one of those optical illusion things where if you stare at it long enough you see the face of Jesus or Sophia Lucia.

But nope.

And speaking of, how long does it take to film a movie cameo?  It’s not like she’s out at Sundance fer cryin’ out loud.  Do your thing and get back home before Maddie has a stress induced aneurism.

You two kids need to settle this in the parking lot like good thugs, crown the victor, bury the loser and then we can get back to fixing our sickled feet.

When Abby claimed that nobody deserved the top of the Pyramid, Kelly’s mouth got (bleeped) out AND blurred out.  They don’t even do that on Mob Wives, so she must have had some serious potty mouth.

Kendall, Nia and Chloe all got solos.  Maddie got another nervous tick and then they all got sparkly hats for the group number.  The routine was yet another Bob Fosse-ish jazz handy fedora kind of dance with a Survivor-like twist.

You drop your hat…you’re kicked off the island.

As the girls began rehearsing, Melissa’s guilt and regret for supporting the other Moms during their sit-in a few weeks ago began percolating again.  Having your friends’ backs is one thing, but at the cost of losing your place in line behind Abby’s butt?  Maybe not.

Transitioning from kissing butt to kicking butt…we were then whisked off to Ohio and the Evil Dance Lair known as Candy Apple’s Dance Center.

We’ve never really discussed it, but what is the real deal with the apostrophe in that name?  Anyone?  Is the studio owned by some stripper?  Because that’s the only Candy Apple I’ve ever heard of besides the kind you eat.

(Yes…I have a couple of jokes in my head right now, but we’ll move right along before I get blurred out like Mama Hyland’s face.)

Chaos Cathy Nesbitt-Stein had combed the Earth and pulled together a fresh crop of juvenile boy jerky for a newly created All Male Revue.  Judges love boy dancers, and usually give them high scores just so they won’t jump ship and go play football.  That’s just a fact.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m all for boy dancers (…that didn’t come out quite the way I intended it to sound…) but it’s a fact of life.  And Cathy knew it, so she was ready to shove some new sticks into them candy apples, if you know what I mean.

There was Bryant, who kind of looked like he thought he was going to be on MTV’s Dance Crew when he showed up that morning but was koolio with it and stuck around anyway, and Gino who was all braces and boogie feet.

The third Bboy was legit Bboy dancer Jalen, who at 2 feet tall has a bigger social media presence than Ryan Seacrest.  No lie.  Check it out.  Jealz much?

He’d probably be a lot taller if he didn’t spend all day spinning on his head, but he is seriously playground gangstah and killed it on stage.

And then there was Zackery.  Commence swooning, girls.

He’s the same Zack who devastated the entire female species when he was eliminated way too early on that Abby’s Ultimate Dance Competition show.  Remember that?  All the crying and screaming and collapsing on the floor when Robin Antin pimped out the Pussycat Dolls and then sent the kid packing?

He’s back, bitches.

I’m going to assume that the producers either knew a good thing when they saw all those unconscious little girls in the lobby of that Los Angeles hotel this summer, or that Cathy chloroformed Zack and tossed him into the back of a waiting van after he and Mom Gina flipped off his marquee light.  But either way, he was back.  And Trapper Keepers everywhere just got a new I Heart Zack glitter doodle during homeroom period.

Choreographer Nick Anthony (…a lot of porn names this week, huh?…) made the horse & buggy trip to Ohio to teach the boys some dope hip hop beats, and while they all got jiggy wid it, Cathy licked her chops like she was at a Costco international food sampling weekend.  It’s well documented that Mama likes her boys.

Back in PA, the female group routine was not going quite as smoothly.

Maddie was gradually coming unraveled and nobody could seem to figure out how to keep a hat on their head for longer than two 8 counts.  Even holding the chapeaus wasn’t working very well.  I see why Abby doesn’t let the girls juggle chainsaws on stage.

And then Abby’s little sissy dog drank out of the public water fountain.

With the same mouth that he licks his own butt with.  I wasn’t sure if that was an everyday occurrence, or if Abby was just playing a mean joke on Jill the next time she gets thirsty.  But since Jill’s mouth was pretty much all over Abby’s butt by now, it probably was less of an issue for her than I’m making it out to be.

Buying Chanel gift sets and lobby benches didn’t really get her anywhere last season, so Jill had moved on to straight up slave labor in an attempt at getting on Abby’s good side.

Including squatting alongside a little puppy while it does a tinkle on national television.

Watch Mama show you how it’s done.  Good boy.  Now let’s go have some water.

That would have been awarded the episode’s Oddest Moment Award for certain if Jill hadn’t next shown up in her confessional camera shot wearing a hat.

I can’t.

Moving on.  Solo rehearsals were going ok.  Not great.  Just ok.

And the group routine wasn’t going much better.  There were hats flying everywhere like some unintentional tribute to the opening of the Mary Tyler Moore Show.

Sing it:  You’re gonna make it to 4th Place after all, girl.  Hat toss.  And scene.

During their final dress rehearsal, Kendall’s costume hadn’t been delivered yet and it turned into big drama.  Instead of picking something out of Abby’s fire trap of a costume shop, Jill had commissioned a designer to create a masterpiece like they do on Toddlers & Tiaras.  And it was late.

Abby flipped.  Kendall cried.  Jill double flipped.

Chloe just stood back in her dirty Raggedy Ann outfit and watched, looking like a toy shoppe version of that sad kid in Les Misérables. 

Jill had yet another full-on cowboy hat meltdown and called it destruction of the children while proudly proclaiming that she was a grown a** woman like they do on VH1.

Yeah, Bitch popped off.

Then some more screaming and then she yanked her daughter out the door, thinking that the other Moms would follow her as backup like they all did during the min van sit-in.

Umm.  Not so much.

Once you’ve been burned, you tend not to touch the stove again.  So Jill was on her own for this one.  Thanks for nothing, ladies.

Finally, it was Showtime!

Everyone made their Rock Star entrances down the hallways, surrounded by screaming Justin Bieber fans all clutching cell phones and souvenir ALDC bumper stickers.

Craziness.

One of the benefits of Dance Boys is that they occasionally come with matching Dance Dads, and Cathy found herself a keeper with this dude.

Loved this guy.  Not only did he support his boy 400%  but I think he also thought he was at a Knicks game, because Dad spent the entire episode pointing and fist pumping and high fiving everyone around him.  If you don’t blink you can catch him chest bumping Zack’s Mom.

My boy’s a dancer.  Booyeah!

Sniffly space shot Vivi-Anne even showed up with Cathy, most likely because she forgot that Mom had kicked her off the team during their ice cream social earlier in the season.

But it’s always a hoot to see what she is chewing on each week.  So drop by anytime, sweetie.

The same intern who misplaced Brooke’s 8×10 glossy was also apparently in charge of the On Stage America backdrop, because that was missing as well.  There’s no way that could have been their official backdrop, right?  It looked like someone with a car ran out to Lowe’s for spray paint twenty minutes before the curtain went up and then it was all hands on deck as everyone tagged the back wall like it was a dumpster.

Girl, that was boooooghetto.

As for the dancing, it was what it was.

Solos were ok.  Only Kendall managed to even place.

The boys weren’t exactly a well-oiled break dancing machine, but the audience freakin’ loved it.  Or maybe it was just the spray paint fumes.  But they were all cheering their brains out.  Ten years from now they’re doing Bachelorette parties.

They’re dudes, and Dad went completely Superbowl on the back of Abby’s head.

The all-girl version went well, too, except for when Chloe dropped her hat.  And you know the rules.  Even though they ended up beating the boys by 1/10th of a point.

You know the rules.

Backstage, Abby blew a nutty.  Christi blew a bigger nutty.  Christi’s been losing it all season if you go back and watch the videotape replay.  And this was her best nutty yet.

Then she quit.  Someone has to quit every week.  It’s in their contract.

Replace us!  Go ahead.  Replace us!  Dramatically awkward suitcase slam.  Even more dramatic hallway exit that looked like she and Chloe were pushing their way through CNN reporters after leaving the OJ Simpson courtroom.

Christi was either yelling at the camera guy, or the Bieber Fever kids or her own kid.  It wasn’t really clear, but I’m going to go with the camera guy.

Bad cell reception.  No cab to the airport.

It was pure Dance Moms dramz.

And scene.

 

 

If Miss Carla really wants hot Mr. Tony’s heart, I guess I could string him up, cut it out and leave it in the mailbox for her.

 

 

 

 

The name is Fierce. Justin Fierce. And I like my martinis…and my big booty…shaken, not stirred.

 

 

 

 

MmmMmm. That Mr. Tony is smooth as Nutella. I’m ’bout to spread all that on my Big Girl cracker.

 

 

 

 

How you doin’?. Looks like Heaven must be missing an angel. And there’s a couple of tasty thigh pieces missing from the KFC Bucket, too.

 

 

 

 

Trust me. As soon as I’m done calling in some take-out, I’m gonna show that fine Mr. Tony how we do it down at Lane Bryant.

 

 

 

 

Oh. Hell. No. That Bitch did not just steal my look.

 

 

 

 

 

Excuse me? What are you looking at? I got this, honey.

 

 

 

 

Ok.  First things first, before we even get to the sparkly stuff.

I love me some Carla Smith. 

Director for Starz N Glitz Pageants and Honorary Sass Ambassador for loud and proud Big Girls everywhere, Miss Carla is like some LSD induced technicolor cartoon that climbs out of your television set and just slaps you in the face with whatever hand isn’t holding a hoagie.

Love.  Her.

I actually love her so much that I’m going to allow her to be the Designated Driver when I go clubbing with my Universal Royalty girlfriend Annette Hill.

One.  Because Annette and I will wreck that club and we’ll need a getaway car, and probably some Ultimate Grand Supreme bail money, too.

Two.  I can’t imagine Carla with liquor insider her.  Bitch is cray cray when she’s sober.

Wearing one of those floral headband contraptions that used to be reserved only for babies with no hair when they were having their pictures taken at Kmart, Miss Carla broke it all down for us before the Starz N Glitz Fiesta Pageant.

It was un tema españolas.  A Spanish theme.  Der.

According to Miss Carla, it was going to be all about kids wearing big spanish flamenco dancer dresses and big matador hats, all accessorized with even bigger hair and bigger teeth.  The bigger the better.

By the time she called it Pageant Pimping, I decided that she should have my babies.

Love.  Her.

Our first contestant was 4 year old Alyssa and Mom AmyLeigh.

Alyssa was a cutie blessed with big stuffed animal eyes and a gift for non-stop nonsensical rambling.  Not the kind of monosyllabic gibberish nonsense that is said with a mouthful of strained carrots before your baby teeth come in, but the kind of multisyllabic nonsense that…well…just doesn’t make sense.

Q. How do you feel today?  A. Like a chicken nugget.

Q. What dress do you want to wear today?  A. Unicorns can drive spaceships.

That kind.  But her cuteness made up for it.  Except for when she admitted to kicking anyone in the crotch who stole her crown.  How does a 4 year old even know that word, or how much it hurts to have it publicly wailed on in a hotel ballroom?

Been there.  Done that.

Mom fawned all over Alyssa’s facial beauty and admitted that looks really do matter in today’s society, since no one has ever had the guts to come right out and say that their ugly child was going to grow up to be president.  Let’s just leave that debate to the chat rooms and we can all reload and head over to deer country.

Moving past the plastic hunting target lawn ornaments and freshly planted shrubbery, we met up with 7 year old Ariana and Grandma Pam.

They should have both looked familiar to everyone from Ariana’s first appearance a few years back, where she struggled to find the balance between Glitz Pageants and cutting out a reindeer’s vital organs while it was trussed upside down on the front door of her family’s lawnmower shed.

Yeah.  That Ariana.

The one who liked to hunt ‘em and then cut ‘em in the belly.  And cut ‘em in the face.  And cut their eyes off to make dangly earrings and then climb inside the hollowed out carcass like she was Luke Skywalker in a snowstorm.

Such a handful she was back then.

But now Ariana was older, and liked to plant flowers and trees instead of blowing open deer skulls.  Those days are over, thank you, though she did appear to have regressed a bit on the day that she scalped a Pittsburgh Steeler  fan and secured their hair on to her Ya Ya Pat‘s head with terry cloth velcro.

Seriously.  Great-Grandma was only missing the face paint and a beer bong.  The logos were all blurred out like gang signs, but I’m pretty sure she was supporting her team and not the Kings or Cripps.

New Rule: When Carla drives me and Annette to that club, bat s*** crazy Ya Ya Pat is riding shotgun.  She was that crazy.  And you know how I love me some lunacy after a hard day at work.

Ariana was less stuffed animal Alyssa eyes and more teeny Beanie Baby buttons, but still smiley cute and liked to talk out of one side of her mouth like she was Popeye.

The third princess wannabe on the other hand, was so quiet I almost missed her segment.  I mean, soooo quiet.  Hunting Wabbits quiet.

Even her name was so quiet that they dropped the last silent “e.”  Shy 3 1/2 year old Natali and Mom Holly didn’t have much to say since the little princess shut down in front of the cameras every time she was asked a question, though we were able to ascertain that Natali was still being nursed.

Wha–?!  Yeah.  At 3 1/2 years old.

So while Natali was taking it all in, I shot all my milk out my nose and then didn’t know what to say either.  No wonder she’s so quiet.  I guess when there’s something in your mouth all the time you don’t really need to do much talking around the house.

Mom explained that she would do whatever it took to help Natali come out on top at every pageant, though it wasn’t really clear if she was referring to spending oodles of money on cupcake dresses or whipping it out in the middle of the Food Court and fueling her up with some kind of cosmic super powered pageant fuel.

That chat room is going to be buzzing this weekend.

When Natali wasn’t working on her bone density, she was really cute.  Like those paintings of the circus clowns with really big eyes and foreheads.  When they took her out into the woods next to some abandoned car for some new photos, they seemed even bigger if that was possible, but she still didn’t have much to say on the matter.

Her teeth looked really strong, though.

And then there was Justin.

Justin Fierce.  From Fierce by Justin.

West Virginia’s own pretty feet guru made the trip over to Ariana’s to show them all how the Queen’s werk it for the judges.

Oh, Justin.

First off, he was wearing the same Kmart baby headband that Carla was rocking.

I know, right?  What are the chances?

Except his looked a little less floral and a little more shower loofah puff tied to your head with a piece of string.  But that bitch can probably make anything work.

Even whatever that Klump O’ Blonde thing was on his forehead.  Don’t ask me.  I’m not sure what it was, but I know he wasn’t born with it unless they cut it off of one thing down there and re-attached it to another thing up there.  And since it didn’t match the texture of his own Brillo hair, it was probably one of those clip-on, glue-on, two sided tape-on things from Claire’s that was stuck up there to cover a receding hairline.

The plaid shirt was a nice touch, too.  Like he had come straight from the Drag Show to a staff meeting in the GAP stockroom but nobody had the nerve to tell him to go to the bathroom and check his head.

Grandma Pam had ordered a miniaturized drag queen gown from some random drag queen gown place, which was a little creepazoid if you really stopped and wondered why a place that caters to 7 foot tall drag queens would even know how to make a pre-school sized Osh Kosh B’gosh dress, much less have a pattern template already laying around on a shelf next to the boob foam.

Justin tried to squeeze himself into the dress when no one was looking and Ya Ya was wearing the World’s Best Pug Puppy Face t-shirt ever.  Ever.

That’s all you really need to know.

After Alyssa hit the salon, got hosed down with some spray tan, made up a few more nonsensical words and tried to get her new hairpiece died to match the stuff coming out of her actual head (…yeah, I’m talking to you Justin…) it was just about time to go glitz.

Dat’s rite.  Showtime!

And maybe Love Connection time, too.  Because Emcee Mr. Tony was in the hizzle and Miss Carla was having a hard time keeping her high waisted Big Girl panties on.

Mr. Tony was so fine, and Miss Carla was dying to pull out her Singer and sew him a tuxedo made out of boyfriend material, asap.

By the time Mr. T did his side to side slow motion swagger dance and blinged off a toothpaste commercial sparkle smile, Miss Carla was pretty much ready to just pile all the crowns and money in the middle of the lobby and let the girls go at it like raw meat while she dragged some ManCandy up to her room before the comped TLC reservation expired.

I momentarily thought of inviting him along when we all go clubbing, but Miss Carla wouldn’t be able to keep her hands on the wheel and I really didn’t want someone pulling my dead body out from under Ya Ya and then having to call my parents and explain that hot mess.

Mr. Tony was a smooth operator, and Miss Carla came up with every excuse in the book to stand directly behind his firm, Grecian Formula a** during crowning.

I got your Grand Supreme right here, honey.  MmmMmm.

The prep work for the pageant went as it always does, but at least this time nobody got locked out of their room.  I think that shtick is already played out.

Alyssa rambled the entire time she was in the hotel room, until I thought someone was going to mace her with Aqua Net.  For a second I also thought Honey Boo Boo‘s Mama was doing everyone’s hair, but I was mistaken.  Close, but no cigar.

Since it was Pageant Day, Justin had put his chunky monkey blonde piece in going in the opposite direction for an edgy change of pace.  I didn’t ask.  I guess one way is casual, one way is dressy.  Even his hair goes both ways.

For Beauty, Natali wanted to go onstage by herself instead of with Daddio, which totally freaked Mom out when she saw it happen live and in person.  Of course when Natali made it on to the stage she froze, but at least she was learning some independence.

Next thing you know she’ll be drinking pasteurized.

The only differences between Beauty and Fiesta Wear were a few more ruffles and that annoying muzak from On The Border restaurant.  Olé!

Ariana’s coach had changed her routine on the ride over, so she kind of lost it a little on stage.  C’mon lady.  Even I now you don’t change a routine right before the performance.  You don’t see Celine doing that, do you?

Natali went onstage alone again, and spaced out again, but was pretty gosh darn excited.  When she bragged about it after the fact, you got a quick glimpse of how freakin’ huggable she really is under all that shyness.  She’s a keeper.

Then some kids won some stuff.

The judges were tough, and looked a lot like those three women who sold tickets at the church rummage sale last fall.  But they knew there glitz stuff and took no prisoners.

None of the threebies won the big title, which was kind of a kick in the crotch after all that hard work and drama.

But the girls all got crowns and toys.  So it was a good day to be a princess.

Just ask Justin.

Werk.

 

 

Time Out’s suck. One more of these and I’ll show them what a Hot Mess really looks like.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Because I’m a Fierce Miss Thang and I’m All That and We Run The World, bitches. That’s why…’kay?

 

 

 

 

 

Is it just me, or does Beyoncé look taller in her videos?

 

 

 

 

 

 

That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Mama can’t do eyeliner without her cocktail.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I mean, seriously. Look at this head. This head is made for a tiara. I’ll show those little sparklers how it’s done.

 

 

 

 

 

Oh. Hell. Yeah. Ten more hits and Sasha Fierce is gonna be hitting the track with Secretariat. Bazinga.

 

 

 

 

No fair.

Kentucky is hoggin’ all the good pageant stuff.

I mean, really.  Last week the circus came to town and the Bluegrass State got clowns, magicians in diapers and that Coach from Hell Nikki lady.  And now this time the Kentucky Derby is front and center?  Whaddup wid dat?

Toddlers & Tiaras must know a good thing when they see it, because everyone extended their Ramada reservations another seven days just to ensure that we all experience everything that Kentucky has to offer, and it was totally worth the room change fee that they probably got stuck with at the front desk.

As Director Michael Booth and his faaaabulous Barry Manilow hair explained it, the International Fresh Faces Pageant was all about big hats, big hair, big personalities, big flippers (…but not too big, please…) and little jockeys.

The horse riding kind, not the underwear kind.  Don’t be gross.

Mr. Michael was definitely into it.  Big time.  So much so that you kind of wondered if he might secretly want to swap places with one or two of the contestants for a night, just so he could wear a big Joan Collins hat and finger kiss an adult audience without getting bitch slapped by Linda Evans delivering a restraining order.

As he liked to say…it’s all about the sparkle and the magic, because everyone enjoys a little dress up time.

Yeah.  Words to live by.  I guess in the world of pageant directing, it’s better to have someone who is too into it vs. someone who just shows up for the free tan, right?

Mr. Michael, I bow to your awesome sauce fabulosity.

The first little princess we met was truly little.  Like 18 months little.

Mom Jessica happily showed off Baby Kendyl‘s wobbly head, crowns, sashes, glitz photos and punching skills as they prepared for the Kentucky competition.  At 18 months old, Kendyl was still more noggin than body, but she was a cute little off-balanced thing with a drooly smile and a wicked left hook.

Million Dollar Baby liked to box a few rounds with Mom…and Mom’s face…whenever they got in the ring together.  Cute at 18 months maybe, but somebody might want to try and break her of that habit before the first day of school or it’s not gonna be pretty on the playground.

Mom’s boyfriend, and Kendyl’s Baby Daddy, mechanic/needle artist Matt was a classic example of Don’t Judge A Book By Its Cover…or its neck ink.

Covered in tattoos and wearing one of those Diesel brand knit hats that the guys on CSI always wear when a drug deal goes bad, Matt looked like he would cut you for your lunch money and then go back to the auto shop to shave off his own eyebrows.

But don’t you be judging that book.

He was the nicest, smiliest, squishiest little Daddy’s Girl Daddy that has ever been on this show.  Little Kendyl owned him from the minute she was born, and he proudly bragged about crying for 45 minutes when he first saw all her wobbliness in the delivery room.

Not sure if that was before or after he tattooed all that stuff over each eyeball, but it didn’t really matter.  He loved his baby.  So we loved him.  Wasn’t necessarily loving his glow in the dark pageant tribute neck tattoo, but the guy’s gotta have a pair somewhere in his low riders to permanently memorialize a TLC show.

Trying to top all that was 6 year old Alanna and Mom Yolonda.

(Another Alana?  Is the world big enough?  Look out, Honey Boo Boo Child.)

Alanna with two N’s was yet another in the seemingly never ending supply of miniaturized Sasha Fierce YouGoGirls that seem to have taken over the airwaves.  I don’t know where they all came from so fast.  There’s at least one on every show nowadays, and yet it still amazes me that anyone that young can be so sassy.

How dey do dat?  Trust me, when I was 6 years old I was not sitting on the teeter totter doing two snaps up and a circle at recess.

Bitch, please.  I could have totally rocked it out.  I just chose not to.  Snap.  Snap.  Circle.

Even though she was only 6 years old, Alanna was already rehearsing for her Comeback Tour.  It had been four long years since her last performance, and it was time.  Her public demanded her return.

At the ripe old age of 2, Alanna and Yolonda had to temporarily put their pretty feet career on hold due to Dad Jeffery‘s military commitments.  Traveling around the country from base to base made it hard to work the circuit, so they all took some time off until Dad could settle down and start bleeding cash again for a new pageant.

So Sasha Fierce was back.  And ready to put a crown…and a ring…on it.

Speaking of…before we meet our final contestant.  Can I just go on record as saying that I am more than willing to pay an additional couple of dollars towards my basic cable subscription if TLC will finally cough up the revenue to pay for the rights to at least one freakin’ Beyoncé song?  A real one?

Please?

If I have to hear that bootleg karaoke “Songs Made Famous By–” fake Single Ladies shizzle one mo’ time playing in the background when they show the exterior of some sassy kid’s house, I swear I’m gonna have Matt cut somebody.

S’rsly.

Anyway.  Glitz Girl #3 was a Hot Mess.

Mom Charlotte said it, not me.  Permanently adhered to her Disney Princess Time Out Chair was 3 year old Jozy, a high pitched, static haired little blonde thing who could vocally shatter glass if she tried.

Mom had that constant glazed-over smile that you get after three years of adhering your child to a Time Out Chair while your husband is downstairs on his Playstation.

Yes, I said Playstation.  Dad Dennis even gave himself the anonymous online moniker “Pageant Dad” since he’s so into the whole thing.

So the next time you’re killing gnomes in Lordaeron while shielded by your Cloak of Invisibility, keep in mind that you might actually be sticking your crackling dragon fire dagger into the head of a 45 year old man wearing a Sparkle, Baby tank top.

Let that one sink in for a few.  Just saying.

But right now, everyone needed to put down their joy sticks and rehearse for the pageant.  Time is money, people.

Jessica took Baby Kendyl over to the local restaurant so she could practice falling down on a bunch of tables pushed together into an impromptu stage.  As added incentive, she even laid out a dollar bill to entice Kendyl to head towards the “X” made out of electrical tape.  Kendyl likes to be bribed with cold, hard cash.

One.  When I was 18 months old, I didn’t even know what my own boy parts were, much less a dollar bill.  (…TMI?…)

Two.  Remind me never to eat at that restaurant if they allow babies to come in off the street and booty pop their diaper loads all over the table.

Since this was Hot Mess Jozy’s first Glitz Pageant, Mom took her to the local department store for a dry run on the makeup.

One.  I’m sure that the PR people from Clinique really appreciated the consultant doing Jozy’s makeup at the Elizabeth Arden counter.  WTF?  Take your lab coat off honey, or stay in your own sandbox.

Two.  Those same PR people were also probably not doing handstands when their Clinique girl referred to half of the Summer 2013 eye shadow palette as “colors that trashy girls wear.”  I can hardly wait for next month’s Cosmo photo shoot.

By the time they finished up with Jozy, she had smeared enough sample foundation all over her body to sneak through Ellis Island’s immigration check point.  Hot.  Mess.

More than likely there is a Help Wanted sign at the cash register by now, so it’s probably pointless to dwell on this one anymore.

Since 18 month old babies don’t have the luxury of wearing trashy girl makeup, Kendyl had to settle for Tan in a Can, which Mom swore was safe and even delightfully moisturizing.  Maybe.  But I’m not so certain how healthy all that overspray was that spooged up the dining room table.  Baby Daddy couldn’t have scored a drop cloth down at the shop?

I know, right?  What is it with that baby and table tops?  Now I can’t go to that restaurant OR go over to their house for dinner.  And I really wanted to hang with my boy Matt and get some Batman ink.  I can totally see us becoming buds.

I also can’t afford to go shopping with Alanna and her parents apparently, as they hit up the Ruby Blue pageant store.

One.  Alanna got a dress.

Two.  Sasha Fierce got a dress.

Three.  Mom got a dress.  She wanted to make sure she had enough options when they got to the competition, and the manager agreed that you can’t put a price on beauty.

Four.  Dad wished he was back on duty taking shrapnel in the head.

Kendyl’s dress didn’t require another mortgage like Alanna’s, but it was just as important to Mom and Dad.  So when it showed up ten sizes too large and damaged they were not happy.  Matt did something with his eyebrows, but it was hard to tell what was going on since…well…they’re not really eyebrows.  But you could tell he was peeved.

Finally, it was Showtime!

A My Little Pony On Acid Showtime!

You had to see that stage to fully appreciate all of Mr. Michael’s fabulishious input on decor and design.  Or you could just go to Toys ‘R Us and drop some acid in the stockroom.  Same diff.

Instead of the usual expanse of empty stage and iParty props, this time all the little tykes got was one tight little front to back red carpet runway due to the rest of the venue being cluttered with theater draping and sparkly horse stuff as far as the eye could see.  And it was a pretty short landing strip, with a pretty sharp drop off, considering that most of the contestants weren’t over 3 feet tall.

You know those air craft carriers that all the jets land on at 200 mph, and they have to be caught by a gigantic bungee cord or they’ll fly off into the ocean?

That’s what it felt like.

Kendyl managed to swap out her oversized mess of a dress with a neighbor, so she was good to go in something that actually fit her jelly bean body.  I love when they’re still so little that Mom or Dad has to go on stage and just swing them around like a Pee Wee Herman puppet.  Being 90% head myself, I love that kid.

Jozy got some Survivor music when she came onstage for her Beauty, which meant that she forgot something or just stood around in a daze.  Judges hate that.

Alanna sucked down enough Pixie Stix to fuel a 747 transatlantic flight before she even left the hotel room.  One right after the other.  I lost count after they flashed #14 on the screen.  But she still got her karaoke Beyoncé on and worked that stage.

The Fashion Model portion was a Kentucky Derby themed Outfit of Choice, so I’m not really sure why they didn’t just call it that and make it less confusing on the entry form.

But whatev.

Kendyl was a little Pee Wee Herman Jockey.  Mom hoisted her all around the room while Dad got so stressed out that I was afraid he’d pop one of his glow in the dark veins.  Matt was on Pageant Dad overload.

Jozy wore a hat that was bigger than her body and all you could see were her feet sticking out underneath.  Judges hate that.

Alanna worked the stage in the same dress you’d expect to see the wife of the man who owned the winning Kentucky Derby horse to wear.  But in a shrinky dink size.  Covered in Pixie Stix dust.  Girlfriend was wasted by the time the show wrapped up.

If you like it then you better put some sugar in it, mmmkay?

Then some kids won some stuff.

Matt went Mosh Pit Spaz when Kendyl scored a Novice Supreme.  Aerosmith rockstar fingers and all.

Jozy won enough to keep her busy in her Time Out Chair, and gave Dad some bragging rights back on Middle Earth.

Sasha Fierce didn’t win the Ultimate Über title, and Mama Fierce was not happy.

Just another day at the Derby.  And then it was over.

Mr. Michael, you can take off your hat now.