My Day At The Maury Show

We arose early at dawn. There was an unusual bite in the air for a May morning, and as I drew in my first few breaths of crisp air, I knew today’s expedition was to be a great one. Today, we were to go to The Maury Show! Between all of the excitement and the overflowing goblets of red wine we shared the eve before, I tossed and turned all night. I was so eager for Maury, I could barely sleep. (We also left the windows open accidentally and the temperature dropped to like, 40 degrees overnight. That might have been another reason why.)

Within minutes, we were out of bed and prepping for the show. We expedited our normal morning routine and followed the critical path method. Completing only the most necessary activities, we adhered to the following schedule:

1. Dress head-to-toe in glittered garb

2. Imbibe Andre-only champagne or equally-as-cheap moscato of the “Sweet B-tch” variety

3. Practice key facial expressions: shocked, disgusted, sympathetic, wildly excited

4. Wear hoop earrings

After our warm-up, we were ready to take the field. We traveled eastward toward the stadium, dressed for battle, and arrived just before the sun was fully up. As we anxiously awaited the doors to open, we judged people walking by and talked of inconsequential matters. That is, we continued our preparation.

Once inside, we effortlessly glided past security and became fast friends with the head line-bouncer (we had to wait in another line, it was so cray). I suspected that this gentleman was Maury’s brother who Maury gave a job to because he was a failure on his own or something. But alas, my friends disagreed. We then discussed whether or not Papa John is hot. It should come as no surprise that the answer was a resounding “yes.”

Anyway, we finally entered the studio. Because of our best-friend status with “Maury’s brother,” we were welcomed into the dopest seats in the house, front and center. As an audience, we were coached on facial expressions and encouraged toward animation. Unlike the silly amateurs that surrounded us, we were obviously well-prepared. We were born for this moment.

What happened next can only be summarized in fragments of flashbacks. I will allow your imagination to carry you through on the rest:

They met at the “cawn’stor.” (The “cornerstore” or the “Coldstone?”)

A moment of sympathy for crying contestant number 1.

Overwhelming regret upon Maury’s entrance on stage into the crowd of females. I wish I had danced my way up there like a floozy when I had the chance.

Immediate gratification that I did not, upon camera sighting.

This cannot be real.

My hands hurt from clapping.

She’s cross-eyed. Yes.

Those photos do not match the men backstage. Take Two.

I hope that expression just made it on TV.

This place is so much smaller than it looks on TV.

I really hope it was a Coldstone.

Maury is so hot.

Just like Papa John.

I wonder where they find these people.

Open the envelope!

“We determined that was ALSO a lie!”

BOOOOOOOOOOO. Collective thumbs down.

Re-enactment of Diary of a Mad Black Woman.

And of course, the moment you’ve all been waiting for…

He was the father! TC mark

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  • Marc

    I went there about a year ago. Very interesting crowd…more so than the guests.

  • http://gravatar.com/mutterhals mutterhals

    Holy shit, I loved this.

  • Guest

    no.

  • Casey

    totes jelly

  • http://twitter.com/rob_t_firefly Rob Vincent (@rob_t_firefly)

    I sometimes lie awake at night pondering the question of whether, at the end of his day, Maury Povich feels deep satisfaction of a job well done and has a good, refreshing night’s sleep.

  • http://crescentmelissa.wordpress.com CrescentMelissa

    Great post! Many years ago I went to the Sally J. Raphael show and it was something…else. Glad you enjoyed yourself!

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