People filled the meeting hall with expectations of a pleasant evening of food, drink, music and watching attractive men dressed up like women. It was for charity. What could go wrong? No one heard the door lock as dinner was being served.
The food was average for a catered affair, and the wine was mediocre at best but it was plentiful. By the time the main event arrived hopeful tittering lights went down. The taped music soared. The master of ceremonies, dressed in a tuxedo, stepped from behind the curtain. He leaned into the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we proudly present the WoMan Fashion Show!”
As the audience applauded, the curtain parted. The first model stepped into the spotlight. Complete silence.
“Oh my God!”
The man was at least seventy years old and weighed three hundred pounds. He only wore a g-string. He swayed his hips, bounced on his heels. His body jiggled. The audience moaned.
“For the sake of humanity, put some clothes on!”
As the model turned and shook his dimpled butt. The emcee held up a pair of shorts.
“And what am I bid to have this man put on these shorts?
“Ten dollars!” a woman yelled out.
“Hughie,” the emcee said, “I think it’s time to get up close and personal with the audience.”
“A hundred dollars!” the woman screamed. “Cash!”
Hughie skipped down the steps and went to the first table. A man sitting there jumped up and ran to the back, twisting the door knob to no avail.
“Let me out! Let me out!” He pounded the door. “Mommy! Make him stop!”
“A hundred and fifty dollars!”
“We take credit cards,” the emcee intoned.
“A thousand dollars!” another woman called out as Hughie wriggled towards her.
The emcee accepted her bid. He threw the shorts to Hughie who bent over in front of the woman to put them on.
“A shirt!” she screamed. “A thousand for a shirt!”
Hughie shoved his chest into the face of a man.
“Two thousand dollars!” the man hollered.
“Very well.” After the emcee received the credit card payments he threw a T-shirt to Hughie who pulled it over his head.
“It’s too small!”
“This is even worse!”
“I have this nice big flannel shirt.” The emcee held it up.
“Three thousand dollars!”
After a massive sigh of relief from the audience, Hughie exited, only to be replaced by another model, even larger, and hairier.
Two hours and five models later, everyone was crawling to the stage, extending their credit cards in quivering hands. Their faces were soaked in tears and sweat.
“Thank you for your support, ladies and gentlemen,” the emcee said with silky innocence. “We have raised enough money to keep our charity going for another year.”
The audience heard a key in the door. They stood and whimpered in anticipation.
“Next year, please encourage your nearest and dearest enemies to attend the WoMan Fashion Show. After all, it’s for a good cause.”