As Miss. South Carolina crept onto the stage, sweaty hands clutched too tight around her microphone, the cameramen fell silent and the stage lights dimmed. The announcer introduced the first contestant, and so began the first tale of the evening.

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The ruins of our empire are cluttered with ghosts cursing those who dare explore the stones; not because ghosts are made cruel by nature, but because if another empire were rebuilt in their ashes, they would lose their small consolation -- ghosts of a great empire, how tragic, how heartwrenching!-- and become just another wayward spirit, doomed to wander barren fields far from their homeland until they find a new God for whom to twist themselves into an angel.

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Hands shaking, she passed the mike to the announcer and speed-walked off-stage. "This has to be a joke," whimpered the oldest producer, head in his hands.

But it was as serious as his corporate future, and the next contestant was already walking onstage.