My friend Mary begged me to go to “The Annual Pad-a-Palooza,” a small town’s most glorious and famously unhinged shoulder pad contest. The competition was fierce; I saw one woman with pads shaped like fully functional, miniature water fountains, and another whose pads were a pair of angry, plastic geese. The grand prize was $5,000 for the largest and the wildest entry. Mary was only there delivering catering, but she had to wear the promo gear: a monstrous set of shoulder pads made with ramen noodles. We’re talking hundreds of the dried noodle bricks, glued together into two massive, spiraling golden epaulets.
She got lost backstage and, by mistake, wandered into the final judging. The spotlight suddenly on her.
Before her sat the judges, including a famous and notoriously dramatic 80s fashion designer. He stared at Mary’s noodle pads and raised a bullhorn.
“Incredible!” his voice boomed. “It’s a commentary on the fleeting nature of sustenance and style! It’s perfect!”
He was about to declare her the winner when the goose-lady stormed the stage. She ripped the bullhorn from the judge’s hands and got two feet from Mary’s face. The shriek of feedback was deafening, followed by the woman’s raspy voice, amplified to a shocking degree.
“You’re a fraud!” she screamed. She jabbed a finger at Mary’s shoulder, chipping off a piece of golden noodle. “It’s just instant lunch!”
The judge, aghast, snatched the bullhorn back. He picked the noodle flake from the floor and, to everyone’s horror, popped it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, his eyes closed. A mortified silence fell over the room.
He raised the bullhorn. “The texture is exquisite,” he announced. “You see a snack. I see genius.” He glared at the rival. “Now get off the stage!”
He then walked over, holding a giant novelty check for the $5,000 prize. As photographers gathered and flashbulbs popped, the judge put his arm around Mary for the picture. While smiling broadly for the cameras, he leaned in, opened his mouth wide, and took a huge, chomping bite directly out of her ramen shoulder pad, sending a shower of golden noodle crumbs down his tuxedo.
Floyd Kelly 
Leave a comment