Miss Too Much Pageant

NOTE: A fictional story designed for those who can handle it.

* * *

"Hey! You frickin' lazy bum! Wake up, will ya?"

"Yeah, getcher carcass out of bed, I'm Armpit..."

"And I'm Costello."

"Welcome to Morning Mayhem on Rockin' 92!"

The crunching chords of Bachman-Turner Overdrive's seventies hit Takin' Care Of Business began. The two hosts continued talking.

"They call me Armpit! I don't have to tell you why!"

"We're being kind by calling him Armpit. Most everybody else calls him by the name of another body indentation!"

"He's Vinny Costello. We're here every day to get you started."

"Get you up, you might say!"

"Right, Costello, get you up! And here's something that'll help that, I bet. Our latest contest, promotion, whatever ya wanna call it. Play the contest cart!"

The music faded. An announcer's voice cut in.

"Is it possible to have Too Much Of A Good Thing?"

"Sheesh, Costello! Will you look at the size of those things?"

"Massive, Armpit! How do you stand up, lady?"

The sound effect of a cow mooing punctuated the dialog.

"I know!" answered a female voice. "They are pretty damn big, aren't they?"

"Lady, that's like saying the Pope is a little bit Catholic!"

"I've had them since I was ten!"

"They were that big when you were ten?"

"Nearly!"

The announcer spoke again. "Armpit and Costello have introduced you all week to women with Too Much Of A Good Thing!"

"Put 'em over my eyes, wouldja? Costello! I can't see! I can't see!"

"Now, your favorite morning hosts are giving you the chance to meet them in the flesh!" continued the announcer. "And that's some flesh!"

"Armpit! Can ya breathe?"

"Announcing the Miss Too-Much-Of-A-Good-Thing Pageant! Wednesday morning at six, at the Highlander Inn! Witness women over-blessed with femininity parading their pulchritude for your pleasure! Armpit and Costello will host--the girls will be judged on their performance in the Half-a-Swimsuit Competition..."

"Half a swimsuit?" asked a chorus of men's voices.

"Trust me, you DON'T want to see these girls in bikinis!" explained the announcer. "They'll parade what they have to offer in bikini tops and tight jeans. Plus, they'll show their personality in Interviews, and best of all — the Talent Segment of the Pageant!"

"Costello, bring in a chair! I wanna see if she can pick up a chair with them!"

"You'll see feats you never thought possible — performed with the feminine upper body!"

"Make it an armchair, Costello!"

"The winner will be rewarded with what she needs most! That's right — Metro Plastic Surgery will treat Miss Too-Much to an all-expenses-paid breast reduction operation!"

This detail was greeted by the sound effect of thunderous applause!

"That's the Miss Too-Much-Of-A-Good-Thing Pageant! Tickets are available at the mall, the Highlander Inn, or here at at the studio! And ladies! There's still time to become a contestant! Call Armpit and Costello if you think you could become Miss Too-Much-Of-A-Good-Thing! Only from Rockin' 92!"

"Rockin' Ninety-who?"

"That's ROCKIN' 92!"

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Mickey snickered at the promotional announcement and turned up the volume on the radio he kept in his kitchenette. He finished the toast with butter and peanut butter and cup and a half of coffee that he had every day for breakfast and prepared to go to work. But first, he wanted to hear a little more of Armpit and Costello's program.

"Well, there ya go! It's tomorrow, but there's still time to get tickets. Lots of you guys are gonna wanna be there, right, Costello?"

"Right, Armpit! We should say that the breast reduction surgery will be supplied by Metro Plastic Surgery, just like the announcer said. We have to say that, because it's a trade deal."

"Right. We say their name, they supply the prize. Quid pro quo, and no money changes hands."

"Armpit, watch what you say!"

"What are yout talkin' about, Costello? I didn't say anything to get us in trouble!"

"I know! But what makes you think our audience knows what 'quid pro quo' means!"

"I get your point, Costello. Listen! I wanna say one thing. I keep hearing statistics that say the average American bust is increasing in size. Know what I'm talkin' about?"

"Yes, I do, Armpit!"

"Well, I see no evidence of that among our college interns! No evidence whatsoever!"

Laughter, from the crew, apparently, filled the radio studio. Mickey laughed as he buttoned up the work shirt he wore, with his name embroidered on the pocket. He switched off his kitchen radio and rushed to his car, so he wouldn't miss any of the show!

"So — do we have any babes with big gazoombas waiting for immortality in the hall!"

"Lemme check! There's still time to be a contestant...!"

Mickey snickered. Armpit and Costello would help him get through shipping and receiving at the factory for another morning.

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"You've got to be kidding."

Vivian couldn't believe what her friend Cherie was saying.

"No, Viv, I'm not kidding. I'm going to do it," answered her friend as they each picked up a hot cup of coffee at the catering truck.

"You're really going to call those... those... animals?" said Vivian, shaking back her straight blonde hair as she stirred in Sweet'n'Low.

"Vivian, I've been alive twenty-four years," said Cherie.

"Twenty-six," corrected Vivian. "I knew you in high school, so you can't lie about your age with me!"

"Okay, twenty-six!" sighed Cherie. "And I feel as though nothing exciting has ever happened to me. Ever. I don't think it's too much to ask to want to experience some excitement in my life for once," she continued.

"Wait a minute. I know taking customer service complaints over the phone isn't exactly livin' la vida loca," said Vivian as she took her seat. "But Armpit and Costello! They'll make fun of your naked body while the whole city is listening!"

"Yeah," said Cherie, her mouth crinkling as her well-rounded cheeks broke into a smile. "But I think I've got what they're looking for," she said, puffing out her substantial chest.

"Cherie, don't you get it?" tsk-tsk'd Vivian. "Guys don't really like girls like us. Girls with extra oomph. They like those skinny little slip-of-a-things! You see it when we go out, don't you?"

"Oh," protested Cherie, "I don't know if that's true!"

"Cherie, how many dates have you had in the past four weeks?"

Cherie lowered her head.

"See what I mean?" said Vivian, a little sadly. "It's the same with Armpit and Costello. They don't like big chests. They're making fun of big chests. I'd hate to see you subject yourself to that kind of abuse just because you think your life needs some excitement."

Cherie thought it over. "I guess you're right," she finally said, slumping over and taking her place in her cubicle.

But the moment time came for her fifteen-minute break?

Cherie stopped combing her short brown locks and walked to the parking lot to use the public phone.

"Hello, Rockin' 92? I'd like to talk to Armpit or Costello. Yes. Um-hm. Yes, I think I would like to be a contestant! Yeah? They want to look me over first? Okay. I'll come down on my lunch hour. Um-hm. Tell them it'll be worth their while to hang around. F-cups. Right, F. Comes after D! Mm-hm! Okay! See you then."

She skipped back to her customer service post, savoring the closest thing she'd felt to an actual thrill in years.

--------------

"Bo, breakfast is ready. Please come to the kitchen."

"Aw, lay off, willya? Armpit and Costello are on!"

"I've got it on the radio in there! I know you like it. Come on, you'll be late for work."

"Nag, nag, nag. Okay, Soo-ee!"

Belinda scowled at her husband's insensitive remarks. Good lord — making the sound of a farmer calling the hogs? How awful! Why did he always make fun of her size? Calling her Bossy, Elsie the Cow, Piggy, or Soo-ee! It was downright cruel. Besides, she was the same size as the day they were married! It's not like she'd "let herself go"; he knew what he was getting into that day. In fact, when they were dating, Belinda thought that Bo appreciated her well-padded figure... her wide, easy-to-grab-onto hips... her tremendous bust. But now, he snickered and sneered. She sometimes wondered why she put up with it.

Bo sat down and tore into the plate full of eggs and sausages his wife Belinda had prepared. She noticed that he didn't have any trouble choking the food down, despite his unwelcome opinions about the appearance of the cook! Armpit and Costello kept up their radio banter.

"We want to remind our Morning Mayhem listeners that the much talked about Miss Too-Much-Of-A-Good-Thing Pageant is tomorrow!"

"So if you think you've got what it takes, call us! We've got some fine contestants already lined up, but there's always room for one more!"

"You mean room for two more!"

"Right! Bring 'em both in and let us have a look. First prize is an all-expenses-paid breast reduction operation from Metro Plastic Surgery!"

"Right, don't forget the mention. Prize traded for mention, so it costs us nothing!"

Bo snorted with amusement. "You oughta enter," he said facetiously to his wife. "God knows you got enough tit!"

"I might just do that!" countered Belinda. "Listen to me, Bo Benson — you may not want me! You may be disgusted by this body! But others may feel differently!"

Bo wiped his chin with a paper napkin. "Go on, Bossy," he taunted. "Nobody wants to see your big udders. Forget about it." He grabbed his lunch. "See ya."

The sound of the door shutting behind him echoed. Belinda was on the verge of tears. How could he?

She tore open her red plaid nightshirt to expose her breasts. She walked over to a mirror. They were enormous. Not just proportional to Belinda's overall bigness — these were big, big boobs by any standards. Belinda looked at herself, and took a kind of inventory. Her face was all right. Round and full, framed by soft blonde hair, cut in a feathered-back, kind of eighties style. Full cheeks, a bit of a double chin... and the thick glasses she just couldn't see without. Okay, she wouldn't be winning any modeling contracts! But for all these years, through two grown children, her husband Bo seemed to like her looks — especially her heavy, round, pink-nippled breasts. But now? Nothing but wisecracks and out-and-out scorn.

She was just ticked-off enough to dial the phone.

"Rockin' 92? Morning Mayhem show, please. Yes, I'm a potential contestant," she heard herself saying. Belinda could hardly believe what she was doing. "Right now? I guess I could come in. Do I have time to put on some makeup? Hm? They don't care? Unless I want to put some makeup on them?" Belinda rolled her eyes. "No, they'll have no trouble seeing them. I'll be there as quick as I can. Right — and so will they. Ha ha. Okay!" she said, hanging up the phone.

She peered back into the mirror, holding her naked breasts up high.

"Listen, you two," she said, looking her mirror image right in the tits. "We're going to teach that asshole a lesson!"

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Mickey walked to his desk at the loading dock, and switched on his radio. He didn't have to miss a minute of Armpit and Costello! Sometimes people coming and going near the dock didn't appreciate the Morning Mayhem brand of humor... like the boss' secretary. She always sniffed at the sexist and leering comments. But Mickey didn't care! Shipping and receiving was his domain, and his word was law. So it was Armpit and Costello in the morning on the radio, lingerie calendars on the wall, and naked pictures from girly magazines taped to his desk. One female truck driver who regularly delivered goods to Mickey always teased him about the pictures on the desk. "Oh, is this your wife and children?" she would coo facietiously. "You must be very proud!" Mickey had to admit, that was a pretty clever way to give him a bad time about his taste in decor — but it didn't make him get rid of the pictures! He started looking through a stack of invoices as he listened to what Armpit and Costello had to say next.

"Hey, Armpit! I know it's almost time for the end of the show, but we got a last-minute possible contestant here who's come down to the station!"

"Bring her in, Costello, bring her in! Or maybe I should say, bring them in!"

Another sound effect was heard — this time a bump-and-grind rhythm played on tom-toms.

"Your name is...?"

"Belinda," said a shy-sounding female voice.

"Let's cut to the chase. How big are they?"

You could almost swear you heard the sound of a woman blushing over the radio. "They're forty L cup, Armpit."

A chorus of gasps and a smattering of applause greeted this statistic.

"Oh my fricking God. We say fricking here on the radio a lot. The FCC seems to like it. What do you think, Costello?"

"Who can tell, Armpit? Let's see 'em naked!"

"Can you take off that sweatshirt, Belinda? We want to look at those loo-loos!"

"Okay. Your producer told me to come right over, so I left the house in kind of a rush. I didn't have time to put on a bra!"

A boinging spring sound effect cut through the laughter.

"Okay by us!"

"Though I'd kinda like to see what an L-cup bra looks like!"

"Oh, kind of like two salad bowls sitting side by side!" explained Belinda, getting into the spirit of the show. "Ah! There they are. What do you think?"

Armpit was speechless. All he could manage was a low whistle.

Costello jumped in. "Since this is radio, as a public service, I must do my best to describe the sight to our listeners. Belinda's big Hefty bags are... huge. huge. There's no other word. I'm holding a basketball next to one so our photographer can snap a picture. Check our website later, that'll be up."

"And these enormous knockeramas make the basketball look...puny, ladies and germs," explained Armpit, helpfully. "It looks like... I don't know... two blimps comin' in for a landing! Oh, the humanity! Oh, the humanity!"

"Armpit? Why'd you say it twice?" asked Costello.

"One for each blimp," explained Armpit, as the sound effects man played a drummer hitting a vaudeville rim-shot.

"Now, Belinda isn't exactly what you would call skinny," said Vinny Costello. "Is that fair to say, Belinda?"

"Yes, Costello," said Belinda, pleasantly. "I don't mind your saying that. Those girls you see in the magazines with scarecrow bony bodies and big balloony...?"

"Watch what word you use, Belinda. The FCC is listening!"

"Big balloony... bosoms — that's fake. These L-cuppers are 100% real."

"We're impressed, Belinda. Very impressed. Tell me something. When you and your husband make love...?"

Belinda audibly sniffed. Armpit ignored her.

"...does he spend the whole time up north? Does he ever explore the swampland down south?"

"I don't want to talk about my husband," said Belinda, haughtily. "Can I be a contestant?"

"Hell, yeah," said Costello. "If anybody's got Too Much, it's you. Wear a bikini top with jeans for the Half-A-Swimsuit competition, and think of something you can do..."

"Something they can do," corrected Armpit.

"Right! For the Talent Portion. And once again men, the Miss Too-Much-Of-A-Good-Thing Pageant starts at six a.m. at the Highlander Inn. Go there now for tickets! Only from your friends at Rockin' 92!"

"Rockin' Ninety-Who?" said Armpit, as always.

"Rockin' 92!" said Costello.

Mickey listened, enraptured. He made up his mind to drive down to the Highlander on his lunch hour. He HAD to have tickets to this Too-Much-Of-A-Good-Thing Pageant!

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Cherie and Vivian walked past the tartan plaid sign outside the Highlander Inn ("Aye — Thrifty Rates!") and went into the banquet room, giggling in excitement.

"I'm glad you came with me, Vivian!" said Cherie, beaming.

"I wouldn't let you go out there without some support, Cherie!"

Cherie laughed and raised her boobs with both hands. "I got support!" she crowed.

"I know," said Vivian, rolling her eyes. "You never wear a two-piece swimsuit. Where'd you get the bikini top?"

"Since I only needed the top, I bought one sized for a much fatter woman," explained Cherie, unbuttoning her denim shirt to show it off. "'Course, I had to tie it tighter! I know I'm not slim, but my titties are fatter than I am. You should have entered, Viv. You got the qualifications."

Vivian looked down. "I know, I do," she said. "But I'd rather die than get up in front of people like that!"

They sat down at a table and looked at the unusual buffet of bacon, eggs, coffee, chips, salsa, and beer. Cherie could barely contain her excitement. Vivian kept telling her that men don't really like women built like Cherie. But Cherie doubted that! Sure, men hardly came up to them when they went out to clubs. But Cherie could see them looking. She thought they would come up if they weren't with their friends! Even now, she could feel male eyes all over both her and Vivian. Cherie was pretty sure the young men who listened to Armpit and Costello didn't come out at this hour of the morning because they didn't like looking at big boobs!

-------

Belinda kept her long coat closed. Maybe she shouldn't do this. Maybe her L-cups were piggy and freakish, like her husband Bo always implied. Maybe she shouldn't be showing them to anybody. She walked slowly into the banquet room, doubting her decision.

Then she got a look at the other contestants. Maybe her boobs aren't sexy, she thought, like Bo always said. But no one can say they aren't big. These girls don't have tits, she thought to herself. Sure, maybe their knockers were a little bigger than most. But they weren't L-cuppers! If the judging isn't so much on sexiness, she thought, but on sheer size — she'd win this thing hands down. She flung her coat off and let the assembled multitudes see her massive breasts in a ridiculously inadequate crocheted bikini top. There was a gasp. Belinda exhaled, put on a brave smile, and slowly bounced her way to the front of the room.

Just then two men who must have been Armpit and Costello jumped onto the stage carrying microphones. "Morning, girls. Morning, men! Welcome to this very special edition of Morning Mayhem, The Miss Too-Much-Of-A-Good-Thing Pageant!"

Cherie and Vivian were a little surprised. They both always pictured these two guys as young, college-age kids. Both men were at least into their forties, and one — Armpit? — was completely bald on top, although he took the hair he did have and fashioned it into a ponytail.

Vinny Costello spoke over the applause. "That's right, Armpit. There's a few things we want to say before we go on the air. You have to watch your language. This goes for the contestants and the spectators."

"That's right, a careless word could lose us our broadcast license," said Armpit. "You have to avoid the Seven Words You Can't Say On Television... or radio, according to the FCC. And Costello! Those words are...?"

The thinner man with the moustache and sideburns grinned. "Shit, fuck, piss, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, and tits!"

The crowd of young men applauded and cheered at the forbidden words!

"That last one again?"

"Tits!"

"Everybody join him!"

"Tits!" shouted the crowd. Armpit tossed his ponytail to one side and continued. "I just wanted you all to get that out of your system. It's so important that we avoid that and all the other words that we're going to make it a judging category. Vocabulary! Each contestant will be judged on how many different words for tits she uses! Sure, breasts and boobs are okay. But be original! Volleyballs! Silk pillows! Dirigibles! Baby feeders!"

"Yum yums!" offerred Costello.

"Yum yums is good," agreed Armpit. "Volkswagens would be good for the size of some of the pairs I'm seeing here today!"

The crowd buzzed and many eyes and pointing fingers turned toward Belinda.