Judge to Miss North Carolina Pageant Contestants: "Girls, You're Both Pretty"

dispute over the rightful inheritor of the Miss North Carolina crown was settled Thursday when U.S. District Judge James Fox issued the ruling that both competitors were pretty.

Rebekah Revels had won the Miss North Carolina pageant, only to be forced to resign when a letter from her ex-boyfriend claimed he had topless pictures of her. Misty Clymer was chosen as Miss North Carolina afterwards, though Revels sued the pageant for the right to wear the crown. The winner of the lawsuit would go on to represent North Carolina in the Miss American pageant Sept. 21st.

The judge refused to pick one contestant over the other, leaving that to the Miss North Carolina pageant committee. Instead, the judge said in his ruling: "I see what this is really all about, Misty… Rebekah. Girls, you're both pretty. There's no need for all this fighting and competition."

The allegation of a forced resignation was the basis for Revels' case as she claimed the judges had rightfully chosen her to represent North Carolina. Pageant officials felt the nude photos taken by the ex-boyfriend tarnished the crown of the pageant and put dozens of future scholarships and sponsors for the Miss America and Miss North Carolina pageants in jeopardy. These photos, so crucial to the case, could not be obtained despite countless requests to both parties, but nude photos of Alyssa Milano were available on the Internet, as well as a compromising picture of Mandy Moore and two black men, but those pictures could possibly have been Photoshopped.

The case was settled amicably by the judge's declaration of equal prettiness. Miss North Carolina pageant representatives said Misty Clymer would go on to represent North Carolina in the national pageant. But the judge's ruling was a tremendous boost to Clymer's confidence.

"Like all girls, Misty needs a compliment every now and then to keep her going," said pageant representative Vill Gording. "And with all this stress of the case and the high pressure of being in a court setting, you can imagine she was a little down. The judge reminded her she was pretty—she knew it, but still, you like to hear it—and it made her day."

The declaration was also well-received by plaintiff Rebekah Revels and counsel. "Obviously, Ms. Revels is disappointed by the pageant's decision to uphold her resignation," said Revels attorney Wax Musstash. "But my client was more than satisfactorily compensated for her loss by the reassurance she is pretty. That's all she really wanted anyway—the judge was wise to acknowledge that."

"I'm glad that the court system is finally able to get past the frivolous lawsuits to the important stuff," said some smart-ass on the court steps as this reporter attempted to get better quotes from the lawyers involved.

The potential for future disappointments in both contestants' futures being high, the judge issued also his telephone number to both plaintiff and defendant, urging that they should call him sometime soon in the future for private rulings. That may or may not have been true, but this reporter certainly would have been disappointed to find the judge missed out on such an opportunity.

Again, if any informant has laid hands on the photos in question, please contact Ramon Nootles at the commune and we'll talk finder's fee.

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Life is funny sometimes.

I was out prowling around and whatnot the other day when I ducked into a store in the mall that had this huge life-size statue of Xena in the window. Now, Omar Bricks isn't a huge Xena fan or anything pathetic like that, but he knows a key piece of interior decorating décor for the Bricks Manor when he sees it.

I was hoisting the Xena statue onto my back when the pre-pubescent store manager asked me if I needed help with anything, like he was going to crap out a disc helping me carry this thing out to my bike. I asked him if he had could get me a dickfour, which I figured would keep him busy for a while. But he was unphased, this cat was all business. We shot the shit for a while, and I was disappointed to find out that this backwoods store doesn't accept SuperAmerica calling cards as a form of payment. No shit! In America no less. It was probably for the best though, since $10,000 for the statue probably would have gone over the minutes I had remaining on my card. I'm not sure, but there's a pretty good chance. Thus began a fruitless bartering session that went nowhere but gave us both a good excuse to yell in public.

I sent the dude to go check with his regional manager to make sure they didn't need a used Nordic Track for the store, and while I was waiting, some salivating dweeb trapped me into a conversation like a sparrow caught in flypaper. He had his retainer all in a twist about some computer program that had just given the King Geek chess guy a wedgie or whatever. Something about chess, anyway. I said I knew what he was talking about, just because the reflection of my face in his glasses was starting to wig me out and also I wanted him to stop talking.

Now Omar Bricks knows a thing or two about chess. For one, there's a dude that looks like a horse, but he's not called a horse. Don't ask me why. I think it's stupid too, but I didn't make up the game. And the other thing is, don't try to mix and match checkers pieces while you're playing, because nothing pisses off chess geeks more than bringing up the subject of checkers.

Since the manager still hadn't come back yet, I was stuck in a socially awkward situation that only wholly unexpected display of breakdancing ability would get me out of smoothly, and I wasn't wearing the right kind of pants for that. So I was trapped like a gimp as the chess guy showed me over to a computer where there was a herd of nerds crowding around, all taking their shot at beating this Deep Fritz genius chess program that had so recently bookslammed the Grand Dragon of the socially stunted chess world. Of course, they were all getting smoked like cloves at a junior high school party and giving each other wet willies for losing and all kinds of retarded shit I don't even want to go into.

Since I was kind of stuck there anyway, I decided to make it interesting and I announced that Omar Bricks had come to kick Deep Fritz in his chess-loving taint, once and for all. The dorks were dubious, but when I stated flatly that Omar Bricks had never lost a game, they were impressed. Or non-responsive, whatever. But technically it was a true statement, thanks to the patented Bricks end move where you "Ah, shit!" accidentally flip the board over with your knee when defeat starts to look imminent. It works in pretty much any kind of board game, though if you're going to pull that during a game of Scrabble, you might want to duck out the door while everyone is confused because that's one mess you don't want to help clean up.

So in the end I knew I had that ace up my sleeve, and I doubted the computer had anything like that to fall back on. Generally computers don't have sleeves to hide things in at all. That would require computers wearing dress shirts and nobody not recently off crack wants that, since at any time you could turn around and find big bird-headed lamps pecking at you and scary pants come dancing out of the closet and then you realize you're in some kind of Herbie Hancock video nightmare and oh shit.

The match started well, with me moving some horses and the computer moving some big dick-shaped things around for a while. I think my concentration may have lapsed because I was wondering if this computer had that naked golf game on it when one of the nerds yelled in my ear "Omart! He's got you in check!"

Now I don't claim to speak chess, but I figured this was probably bad. One of the other geeks pointed out the computer's little castle and how it was lined up to put the smackdown on my bedpost. Shit. NOW they tell me you can move the castle. What the hell kind of unrealistic game is this? No matter, either way I had to move fast. I told the dorks not to worry. Then, when the computer was about to put the "Castle of Death" whammy on me, I jumped up like I had just seen an underdressed high school girl out in the food court and in the process banged my shin like a motherfucker on the computer table. That sent the whole thing down like a pup tent on a Special Ed camping trip, no lie. The effect was basically what I had been after, though with more shin banging than I cared for.

Of course, that's just when the manager shows back up, when there's broken crap everywhere and I'm hopping around, holding my shin and cursing out Bill Gates. The nerds were long gone, off checking the food court for cleavage. The manager kid was going on and on about the broken computer and this and that, and I thought I was going to have to windmill my way out of there after all, but he changed his tune after I threatened to sue the whole mall over their defective computer tables. For a second I thought I might be riding home with that Xena statue strapped to my back thanks to my lawsuit ruse, but finally I had to settle for this little pewter statue of some kind of fat gremlin thing.

Tell you the truth, I don't even know what the hell it's supposed to be. But it sure makes a badass hood ornament for my bike.

Bricks out.

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"Great Burping Furbies!" screamed the Dane wearing the hat of flames. Whoozat? Whazis? Time takes a moment to shave it's kneecaps. Everything slows, like molasses out a chipmunk's nose. You remember the time you were on the Ferris Wheel at the fair, and your great grandma barfed sawdust over the side, and when the wind kicked up it looked like a swarm of whiteflies chasing a fat little boy through the Midway. Good Gremlin Gonads, what am I thinking this for? Now? I need medical punctuation! An apostrophe! An apostle! Someone take me to Sea World, and don't spare the pistons!

No no no, them teeter-totters won't get you to the hospital today. Them's union totters. Jimmeny Jumpropes! Look at the headlamps on that brunette! Wait. I smell burning man-hair. Am I still on fire? Great Tidy Wipers, I am! Shitbells and Josephine! Somebody get me a Handiwipe and a Shasta! I'm too young to provide heat for cooking and recreation!

You remember the time you saw a donkey catch on fire at a propane-tank-throwing contest when you were just a boy. Good Lord Wencelas, was that donkey meat stringy. You never forgot the look on that donkey's face when he looked at you, all on-fire and the like, and recited word for word a report you gave in the third grade from a book about asparagus.

Suddenly you regret using the fire extinguisher to frost those giant mini-wheats you made in the garage. You consider buying an off-season airline ticket to Bort, a small town in Manitoba that surely has snow by this time of the year. But remember what happened the last time you tried to buy a ticket while on fire? You might as well try ordering ranch dressing on your applesauce. Damn damn damn.

You finally understand all them paintins with the meltin' clocks and horseheads and whatnot. No wonder them giraffes was on fire, they must've been trying to hook up a paintball gun to a lawnmower, too! Clever goddamn giraffes! Damn if it isn't hot in here.

Right about then you scream somethin' in Spanish and dive headfirst into the picklin' tank, but turns out them cucumbers is more flammables than they look on the radio, cause the whole damn contraption goes up like a ricepaper hut on Arson Day. Sweet Stammering Dandies! Nedder's having lunch with Joan of Arc!

Now most usual times you're on fire, you have some revelations about the meanings of life or how to cut them lawn with a helicopter but there's rarely enough time to put but two of those to use before some well-meaning passer-by douses you with a garden-hose (or, if you wander into a football stadium, them huge buckets of Gatorade) and you have to start her all over again. Damn-jabney. Sometimes there aren't enough hours in a day.

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