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Miss America

Miss America

3.6 12
by Howard Stern

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"I vow that this Miss America will always tell it like it is, baby."
-- Howard Stern

What Private Parts didn't tell you about the most outrageous person alive, Miss America will, again proving why Howard Stern, with his wickedly twisted, vicious, hilarious eye view is the ONLY honest person in radio, the FCC's worst nightmare, and


"I vow that this Miss America will always tell it like it is, baby."
-- Howard Stern

What Private Parts didn't tell you about the most outrageous person alive, Miss America will, again proving why Howard Stern, with his wickedly twisted, vicious, hilarious eye view is the ONLY honest person in radio, the FCC's worst nightmare, and a man not to be messed with.

For the first time, Stern reveals what went on during his bizarre secret meeting with Michael Jackson; the true story of his aborted run for Governor of New York State; his emergence as a major powerbroker on the national political scene, and his courageous 20-year battle with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

What? Howard Stern an obsessive compulsive? Yes boys and girls, the King of All Media was prisoner of his own warped obsessions. Like right-hand domination. Whether he was washing his face, brushing his teeth or tieing his shoelaces, his right hand had to dominate. Like odd numbers. Touching things three times to protect his own empire was paramount to his mental stability. Sometimes he needed to take three extra bites of food so he could get to the right number before finishing. He had to turn off his alarm clock a certain way, even put his records back in their sleeves in a prescribed ritualistic fashion, just to prove to himself that he was better than anyone else and ensure that nothing would come between him and success.

In Miss America, for the first time, Stern talks "lovingly" about his broadcasting family. Robin Quivers ("Robin's like a Vulcan when it comes to sex. Like Spock, every seven years, she gets this incredible urge to mate."); Fred Norris ("a tremendous pain in the ass"); Jackie Martling ("Jackie always feels abused, downtrodden and underappreciated"); Gary Dell'Abate ("Gary is the son I never had. And if my relationship with Gary is any indication of how I would be with my own son, then there truly is a God who spared the world another Stern family father-son relationship"). Also included: why Ralph Cirella is the most-hated cast member and the interns who never seem to leave.

Filled with hundreds of photographs, including 40 of naked breasts, a pictorial history of Howard's hair, behind-the-scenes photos from one-of-a-kind television and radio moments, and an inspirational tour of Stern's Fantasy F*** List (in the event of Alison Stern's death, of course) that includes Carol Alt, Patti Davis, Phoebe Cates and the Barbi Twins, Miss America is a razor-sharp lampoon of everything America holds dear, from family values and politics to Kathie Lee Gifford.

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HarperCollins Publishers
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4.18(w) x 6.75(h) x 1.18(d)

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One

Cybersurfing for Vagina

I'm such a sex machine! could take a piece of wood and turn it into something erotic, something sensual, something perverse. Take puppeteering, for example. When I was seven years old my mother gave me puppets and within weeks I had puppet orgies in my basement for all my friends to see. And not just people puppets. There were horses, caterpillars, and clown puppets fucking and giving head.

I've never changed. No matter what activity I'm engaged in, if there's a way to work sex into it, that's where you'll find me. For example, I've always loved using technology to create opportunities to have orgasms.

Take the phones: I started abusing those in high school. My first experience was with my friend Bill, who was the second biggest loser in my high school next to me -- especially with women.

On the weekends we couldn't get dates, so all we did was play cards, eat pizza, smoke cigars, and talk about how fucked up all girls were because they wouldn't go out with great guys like us.

Our rap was that if girls could only look beyond the fact that we didn't have good looks and see that we had great personalities, they would fall in love with us. The truth of the matter was we had really bad personalities in addition to our ugly faces. Even the losers called us losers. And we were.

I tried everything to get girls. I even tried growing my hair long so girls would think I was a drug dealer so they'd want to have sex with me. Nothing worked.

One Friday night during our pathetic card game we learned that the phone company had a problem with one of their lines. Through some mechanical error it was possible to dial one number where hundreds of people were on a party line.

What a great way to pick up chicks! Now they wouldn't see us -- they would only be tuned into our great personalities. We quickly ditched our other loser friends at the card game and ran over to Bill's house to be alone with all the girls on the party line.

Now that we were about to make contact with females, we weren't sharing them. The other guys at the card game were cow-faced losers who were convinced we were never going to get girls. We showed them.

We got to Bill's house and, sure enough, the phone line worked. There were hundreds of girls and guys -- all talking at once -- gibberish, all yelling at each other. It was the Tower of Babel.

Bill and I started screaming our names out.





"Howard! Bill! Howard! Bill! Howard! Bill!"

Two nubile female voices responded, screaming out over the hundreds of yapping voices. We could barely hear them saying, "Give us your number, Howard Bill."

It was hard to make out their voices. Were they girls? Were they effeminate boys? Who could tell? Who cared?

We were two desperate men on a mission and they were breathing. Who could tell that they were even talking to us, but we screamed out Bill's number.

Sure enough, miracles never cease, the two girls actually called us. God had answered my prayers.

Now I'd have a chance to prove to some girls that I had a really good personality.

I wasted no time.

"Hey, girls! Want to meet me and Bill?"

"Yeah!" they replied.

See, I was right. It was absolutely true. Without my hideous face in the way, these girls were really getting charmed by my wit -- and joie da viver or whatever. (I hate the French.)

We made a plan to meet at midnight at Southside High School. At the witching hour I'd have a girlfriend. Plus it would be dark so they could hardly see me. In the moonlight my nose looks much smaller. Moonlight is my friend.

On our way over, Bill and I started fighting. I told him we should play it cool. We agreed we shouldn't whip out our rubbers right away, even if they wanted to fuck our brains out.

Gotta be cool about sex. Can't rush. Maybe we'd finger them a little bit. Then let them blow us. That was the plan. Let them hunger for our sperm.

So we get to the high school. It's 11:00 P.M. -- an hour early. It's pitch black. We're waiting. The clock strikes midnight. No girls yet.

"That's okay. They're probably getting ready."

12:30 A.M. No girls.

"They're probably douching, so they won't be smelly for their dates," we decide.

1:00 A.M.

1:30 A.M.

Things aren't going too well. Bill and I are getting a little nervous but we figure it's okay, because the girls are probably busy shaving their hair so as not to interfere with our manly touch when we pull down their panties and explore their precious juicy caverns.

I suggested to Bill that we work out elaborate hand signals so that we could speak a silent language that would say "You take the one on the right -- I get the one on the left!"

1:45 A.M.

God, the high school looks different at night.

2:00 A.M.

No girls.

2:30 A.M.

What were we thinking? You've got to be out of your mind standing around a high school like this. There could be a bunch of guys coming to get us, who'll beat us up and take our money. We're going to get our asses kicked. Now we were scared. Finally it dawned on us what assholes we were: Of course these girls weren't going to show up. We were two ugly guys with bad personalities.

We'd been scammed.

Prerecorded Nymphos

You can understand my...

Miss America. Copyright © by Howard Stern. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.

Meet the Author

In addition to his role as a former Miss America, Howard Stern is the author of the phenomenal bestseller Private Parts and is the governor of the state of New York. His radio show is No. 1 in the whole wide world except for the former Yugoslav republics and most of Africa. He also is co-author of the Oprah Winfrey Cookbook and the ghostwriter of The Bridges of Madison County. He received an Academy Award nomination for Best Screenplay Adaptation for Schindler's List.

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Miss America 3.4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 10 reviews.
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Guest More than 1 year ago
This book reads like a frank, honest discussion with Howard Stern, who confronts and overcomes many obstacles on his way to being crowned 'The King of All Media.' Not for the prudish.
Guest More than 1 year ago
Guest More than 1 year ago
It is a dirty book, badly written, fragmented sentences, he should find a ghost writer, or someone. I find it hard to believe adults buy this stuff, and leave it around the house for their kids to read. No wonder our kids are become morons. He wonders why the FCC is after him, just look at what he is throwing at the American public, he has a sick mind.