Team Party Crash: The Beauty Bar Glam Pageant

Bringing new meaning to the word beauty.
Don't know about you, but we prefer to live vicariously through others. Thus the logic behind sending Gawker hack-at-large K. Eric Walters and softcore lensman Nikola Tamindzic to the Beauty Bar last night for their monthly, debauched, Sunday night beauty pageant. Dan Drogenous, LuLu, and the estimable Michael T after the jump. (Arguably NSFW, or at least until you send the link to your superviser.)

Nikola's full gallery from the event is available here.

"Covering" a beauty pageant is always special when you're covering it for Gawker. My reporting involved talking to a room full of really fucked-up, assymetrical downtowners, all of whom were much cooler than me (and probably you). This was a thankless and mostly retarded task. The usual "journalistic" questions did not apply.

Me: What do you do?
Them: You mean like for a, uh, job?
Me: Sure, for a job.
Them: Wait. You mean like what I do during the day?

"I am in the contest, but I behave like this normally."

Next question.

Me: Are you here for the contest?
Them: What contest?

Okay, I know the only reason I get away with my affected nihilism is because I'm really pretty. I have no problem with that.

We think we know what she means. You can get them at Economy Candy, right?

Merlin Bronques, of Last Night's Party, collects footage for posterity's sake.

Yes, the Beauty Bar Beauty Pageant Contest. Held on the first Sunday night of every month, an esteemed panel of judges, contestants, and assorted degenerates gather to have fun. It s what kids do, apparently. This fun includes getting half-naked and screaming wildly. It also includes ingesting copious amounts of drugs and/or alcohol, in order to ensure that the memories of the half-naked wild screams are conveniently erased by Monday morning.

Check my shit out, bitches.

The bitches instead choose to check each other out.

The internal monologue of Michael T: "I'm going to hell for thinking this, but my parties are sooooo much hotter. Like, whoa."

The theme for the contest: Glam Rock. (The theme from the month before had been White Trash.) Michael T, the creative force behind the Motherfucker parties, led the panel of five judges. What do you want to see in the contestants tonight? I m looking for the very definition of Glam Rock, he told me. And I m looking for a dictionary. The crowd had another standard for victory in mind, best exemplified by the most common refrain of the evening: Show us your tits!

MC Bert Sparks with contestant Dan Drogenous.

She actually wasn't in the pageant...

Round #1 went relatively smoothly, but it was clear there were only two horses in the race. I had my money on LuLu, a 20-something girl who claimed to work for the PR department of Zyr Vodka. She immediately yanked her tits out of her push up bra. The other contender was Christian, a man with the courage to a wear pink spandex body suit. It s shrinking! Christian yelled, looking below his waist. The MC comforted him with the words: That s what happens when you get nervous.

LuLu does what it takes. Did we mention she's in PR?

This is what pink spandex looks like on a man. Sweet dreams.

You mean this isn't karaoke?

There was a deadly break before Round #2, the lip-syncing portion of the night. Many of the contestants like Sweet Pete, Jimmy Glitter, Clittora, and Dan Drogenous milled about the back room, reaching ever higher states of inebriation. Sweet Pete sucked on a cigarette, feeling the pressure. We have to lip sync a whole fucking song, he said. That s like three minutes. And the songs are ones we ve never heard! Forget Atlantic City; this was competition.

This is a completely gratutious picture, but it is much more compelling than my party write-up.

I m sorry to report that the lip-syncing was of a very low quality.

See above caption.

With the singing out of the way, the owner of the bar, Michael Stewart, retired to the back room to tally the judges scorecards. He used a calculator, as accuracy was of utmost importance. At first there was a tie. He conferred with Bert Sparks. Twenty minutes passed. The tension mounted. It was not so much about who the winner would be, but over the fact that L-Train service had been suspended for reasons unknown.

Beauty Bar owner Michael Stewart crunches the numbers.

Who knew problems on the L-Train would lead to starvation so quickly?

A decision was reached. Christian! I m going to Paris, he said, taking the $100 in prize money. What an upset. The value of pink spandex has never been greater.

Christian, a winner of sorts.

No, Dan didn't win. And the L-Train still wasn't running. The end.