Sunday, August 2, 2009
Ayn Rand's "Megan Wants a Millionaire" Part 1
MEGAN HAUSERMAN stood in her bikini on the edge of the cliff, and laughed. Her chest thrust outward as she laughed, silhouetted against the sky. Her body was a body of supple, voluptuous curves. Not a line or plane was out of place, the planes and angles of her had been seemingly designed to fulfill the absolute apex of human achievement. Her skin was the perfect color that you would expect of such skin, and her hair, whipping in the wind against that perfect skin, gently caressed the back of her neck and curves of her back.
Nature, in its cold arbitrariness, could not have conceived of one such as Megan. She had designed herself, with loving care borne out of a life of carving her own path. She had mastered herself, and, therefore, too, her own destiny.
She stood high above a place where the unmoving ocean met the flowing sand and rocks of the beach, and she laughed at those things that had happened to her, and she laughed about what lay ahead. But there was no mirth in the laughter. Rather, it was the laughter of one given to deep examination of those things that had occurred and which she really felt little care over.
Megan seems to take a lot of photos in which she just can't seem to wait to remove her bottoms.
She thought of her time in college, studying accounting. How she had nearly been expelled for her unwillingness to conform to what those in power considered “real accounting.” One and one did not always have to equal two, she’d tried to explain. But they were too small-minded for her, and she knew she was destined for greater things.
She thought of the “geek” she’d helped to change into someone who was not completely reprehensible. That had been her first televised reality competition, and she had played the game by her rules, not theirs. Despite their attacks against her, she had nearly won.
She thought of the musical celebrity whose heart she’d tried to win. No, it had not been his heart that she’d been after. Before the show, the man in question had been little more to her than a few half-remembered semi-musical “songs” from her childhood. During the show, he was little more than an older man with hair extensions and makeup.
You see? Here's another one. She's...just...about...to...take...them...off. If only the photographer had waited just a few more seconds to take the picture!
A wealthy, famous older man.
She thought of her time in Mexico, in “competition” with the other televised reality competition veterans. The goal had been $250,000, but she soon came to realize that maintaining her integrity was more important than winning the money, because she could not win the money on her terms. She could not win the money at all.
She thought of the school, where they attempted to force her into conforming to what a powerful entrenched interest considered to be “charming.” She thought of the dean, and of her expulsion.
“I hope you understand, that I believe you are a wonderful girl,” the dean had said. “But your attitude is seen as a provocation in itself.”
The dean had nothing to teach her. She’d known it from the start. In fact, she could have taught the dean a thing or two. “I understand,” Megan had said. “It is not necessary for you to continue speaking. I shall leave.”
“I am endeavoring to be helpful,” the dean had said, dubiously. “You have been excellent in the learning of the mechanics of charm, but you have not given proper attention to your attitude.”
Here she's laying down and trying to take her bottoms off. Are those things stuck to her in some way? It's almost as if she's, I don't know, teasing us or something.
“Isn’t your speech superfluous?” Megan had asked. “You’re taking back the pin. There is no sense in discussing my choices now. I have nothing further to learn here. If in fact, I ever did.”
“Get out!” the dean had yelled.
Megan knew she had gotten under the dean’s skin, but she was unmoved by this knowledge. Her primary concern was in living her life exactly as she thought it should be lived. Her primary concern was in achieving the goal she’d set for herself. The goal she had stated plainly for the Charm School’s dean, when asked.
“I want to marry a millionaire. I want to be a trophy wife.”
Her entire life had been devoted to the singular pursuit of this ethical goal. She had cultivated an air of charming idiosyncrasy. Always at her side, she kept her mentally challenged dog. Her primary clothing was a bikini, all the better to help her achieve the perfect lightly-tanned coloration to her perfectly defined and planed body. Her hair was bleached a perfect shade of blond. And she had become a master of feigning interest in those banalities that rich men care for.
Megan could nod and smile at anything anyone had said. She could make them believe they’d said something fascinating, even if they were only talking about what was important to them.
She had not wanted to dwell upon the past. For Megan, life was to be lived, not remembered, but they had exercised that part of her contract requiring she participate in the Charm School reunion show. She would always fulfill her contractual obligations, except when it clashed with her ideals.
Standing there, looking out at the ocean, with its unthinking waves, she again laughed, remembering the dean’s reaction when she’d told her that the only reason she was famous was because of her famous rock star husband. True, she had used indelicate phrasing, but still- Megan had merely used words.
The dean displayed her own lack of refinement when she had assaulted her.
I realize it's poor form to write "I smell something fishy" under a photo of a woman who appears to be just about to remove her panties, but the frequency of this pose leads me to believe it's practiced to create a specific response for the audience. To put it another way: I do not believe Megan ever removes her bottoms, ever.
Again, Megan laughed. But her laugh was, again, without mirth. She laughed the laugh of someone who is merely letting her mind think its own thoughts for a moment, before beginning an important task in earnest. Not remembering the past, but preparing for the future.
The future was an ethical one, and based on the rational pursuit of her goal. That had been the problem with all her previous televised reality competitions. Others had been in control. Others with irrational goals. She could not fully grasp the facts of the reality of programs, for those in charge seemed to behave in irrational ways. Now, she had her own program.
“Megan, it’s time.”
Megan turned her perfectly rounded body and saw her friend Brandi. Brandi would be accompanying her on this rational journey. She was the perfect companion for someone like Megan. She was beneath Megan. She was enough beneath Megan that she knew her place, and was just smart enough to be only slightly resentful.
Megan and Brandi C kissing. What does she need a millionaire for?
They’d first met on the older musician’s romance competition, and at first theirs was a friendship based on mutual disdain. Megan had been ambivalent toward Brandi for her acceptance of those things beyond her control. But eventually, their friendship had evolved into something more meaningful, at least for Brandi. Now, Megan recalled the conversation that had been the turning point in their relationship. Brandi had come to a sunbathing Megan, breathlessly, and said, “I’m not sure why I should come to you, but I feel you’re the only person whose opinion means anything to me.”
“What is it?” Megan had asked gently.
“There are times when I think that you’re crazy,” Brandi had said. “Because you refuse to just accept things as they are. But I feel you know more about what has been troubling me of late- romance and money, and their joined pursuit- than anyone I know. I don’t know why, but your opinion means more to me even than my manager’s.”
Megan rolled over on the lounge chair. She needed to tan her backside, but in the process of turning her body she stopped and looked at Brandi, and laughed. It was a friendly laugh, the laugh of someone who has no malice toward the person being laughed at. “Are you afraid of me?” she asked. “Well, ask me your question.”
“Should I do porn?” Brandi had asked.
Megan continued her body’s slow rotation, and lay down on her stomach, so that her back could get sun. She laid her head on her arm in a casual manner. “Brandi,” she’d said, finally, “you’ve already made a mistake by asking the question. You’re showing weakness. You’re not a brute- you’re a human being. Don’t you know what you want?”
Brandi had looked down at her breasts. They were slightly less aesthetically appealing than Megan’s, and, of course, she understood this. At first, she’d resented the fact. But now she graciously accepted it. “I do know,” she’d said, finally.
Megan had turned her head away from Brandi in a casual manner, the way someone turns away from someone when she’s said all she has to say to her. “Pornography is a form of art. Art is a recreation of reality based on the artists’ values,” she said, as her eyes closed and she’d fallen asleep.
But that conversation had been a lifetime ago.
A fairly innocuous picture of Brandi C. She does a lot of porn, and if you're interested, you can find some on the internet. I don't feel like linking to it myself, since this is a family blog.
“The suitors are arriving,” Brandi continued, back in the present.
Megan laughed once more. She laughed because it was the rational thing to do. Then she turned away from the cliff and walked with Brandi toward the house she would share with the seventeen millionaires who would vie for her affections by mutual consent, and for mutual benefit.
The producers of her show had made one choice for her- the hiring of an inconsequential nothing of a person called “Niles,” or “Nigel,” or something. He was a completely superfluous addition to Megan’s program, and as such could be ignored, at least by the rational Megan. The viewers of her show would not be so lucky, but, if they did not want to watch the silly man, they would not have to watch her show. Megan did not believe in using force to impose her will upon anyone.
Ignoring the irritating and unnecessary servant, Megan stood with a casual air, awaiting the arrival of each of her millionaire suitors. Each individual had his own distinctive personality, but in this period of rapid introductions, Megan had difficulty remembering each of the seventeen men. So she did not attempt to do so.
Finally, her two friends, Brandi and Cecille, made their arrival. Megan was most especially excited to see the two women, for it had been nearly half an hour since she’d last spoken to them. Their purpose was in helping Megan to extract information from each of the individual men.
For a beginning, Megan called up each millionaire, and had them describe themselves. Based on these descriptions, Megan presented each with a perfectly logical and appropriate gift.
“I appreciate your interest in this consensual journey,” Megan said. “Unfortunately, for you, I have decided to eliminate three of you tonight. Three of you with whom there is absolutely no chance of developing any romantic connection.”
The men became even more nervous, but Megan was still unperturbed. As yet, she had yet to make a real connection with any of them. That was something that would come with time, perhaps, with any of the men she deemed individually worthy of staying with her in the house.
There followed an evening of conversation between Megan, Brandi, Cecille, and the assembled bachelors. There was little distinctive or of serious interest about any of them, at least on this evening of first impressions.
The man who called himself "The Punisher" had an unusually large birthmark that traced a distinctive map upon his stomach.
The unusually nervous Al gave Megan a foot massage, and then caused her to spill her drink when he startled her by barking. The wine stung her eyes, causing her to give the appearance of crying. But Megan, a fully self-possessed individual, was not one to cry over anything, most especially not the antics of an unserious man.
"I shall buy you a new dress," Al told her, when she returned from her room.
"Then I shall try to forgive you," Megan promised. She never entered into any promise lightly.
In the end, fourteen of the seventeen suitors were presented with credit cards that symbolized Megan's continuing interest in them. Rough around the edged Audi, the still awaiting his inheritance Joe, and film producer and Megan fan Donald were sent home.
The "Megan Wants a Millionaire" cast. For some reason, the producers saw fit to saddle the show with an irritating "British" "butler" / "narrator." They also saw fit to cast the show with some of the drippiest nonentities in VH1 reality show history. This will be a tough sell- I expect my mind will wander, as it did this week. Does VH1 have it in for Megan? She's one of their best characters, and they have totally stifled her. A real disaster in the making. I mean it; this could get very bad very quickly. And here I was looking forward to it, too.
Megan first pic source.
Megan second pic source.
Megan third pic source.
Megan fourth pic source.
Megan and Brandi C kissing pic source.
Innocuous Brandi C pic source.
Full cast pic source.