You open the Miss America lunchbox and...

...suddenly find yourself on stage, standing in the spotlight amid the washing adoration of the crowd. The din of their applause is nearly deafening, and you can't help but smile even as the heat of the spotlight forms little droplets of sweat on your tiara adorned brow. This is it, the moment you've trained for all these years! All the tap dancing practice, all the starving yourself to fit into that tight little swimsuit, it all comes down to this! And you know as you look down at the crowd and see the smiling faces and their unmistakable and true love for all that you are, that every sacrifice you made was worth it.

It's a little drop of heaven…until you hear the shrill shrieking of a jealous fellow contestant standing off on the sidelines. "She cheeeeeeeated! And she's not a real patriot, she's been to France and she didn't hate it! She's not even a "she"! She's an aardvark!" Horror grips you as the smiles of the crowd suddenly turn to glares of hatred. Before you know it, you're being charged by the other contestants who are swarming around and ripping you to shreds like a horde of zombies around a chocolate brain cupcake.

The last thought that goes through your tiny, pretty brain is "Aardvark? What the fuck?" before you are whisked away by the grim reaper to a hell where you'll be tap dancing forever. On hot coals, bitch!

START OVER, PRINCESS!