The third day is always the hardest. It's the day when the pageant demons bubble up from the deepest recesses of our psyches and shit starts to get real.
Courtney Love summons us with heat and verve and suddenly the tiara-stealing nightmares are swarming around us like crisp dollar bills.
Then Valerie pumped some gas into the hooptie,
and drove my sorry ass to the stripper store where we tried a bunch of shit on and didn't buy any of it.