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"Let's misbehave!" I spout in sort of a Chinese accent, placing my bottom on fake Madonna. "It's time to get horny! It's horny time, baby!"
"Austin and I once starred in a movie together," fake Madonna tells the Truth or Dare cameras.
"Yeah baby, it was the movie The Spy Who Shanked Me!" I say, adding gyrating dance moves. "I've lost my moped, baby! Oooooooh, groupies!!"
As the night wears on and the alcohol pours, my thoughts turn to hitting on either the Cyndi Lauper impersonator or one of the numerous Chers (but definitely not the man-Cher). Just as I'm making some valuable fake-Cher time, a Jack Nicholson walks by and whispers some important celebrity-impersonating career advice:
"If you want to make some money, lose the wig!"
"Hi George Washington," the men's room attendant says to me, totally misreading my disheveled Austin Powers costume on day two of the convention. Making my way toward a hotel conference room for an afternoon of celebrity impersonator workshops, my hung-over and unshaven version of Austin Powers with bits of hair sticking out of his wig spots another Austin Powers -- a rival! The other Austin Powers, a chubbier one, eyes me with contempt.
I sit down at a table with an older, gray-haired man with a large nose and a pudgy woman in a sparkly dress. I have no idea in hell what celebrities they are trying to impersonate. It can be embarrassing when you guess wrong. Earlier, I said to a guy, "Hey! It's Chris Rock!" "Actually, I'm Marvin Gaye," he responded.
"There's some people here who you just don't know who they are," the gray-haired man with the big nose says, interrupting my contemplation.
The pudgy woman with the sparkly dress (Selena? Charo?!) leans in close. "Who is he?" she (Cher? Liza Minnelli?!) asks, indicating a man in a blue suit.
"That's Rodney Dangerfield," I say; I know, because we'd ridden the elevator together. The questionable Dangerfield truly doesn't get any respect. He's being well upstaged by another, more animated Rodney Dangerfield, who dishes out zingy one-liners as the nonrespected Rodney sadly leans over and listens with envy.
"I assume you're an Austin Powers," asks a man who's wearing a suit and has a posh English accent. Somehow, his question implies that I'm an inferior piece of impersonating shit. He then tries to sell me on acrylic veneer dental prosthetic teeth ($800), having already secured teeth orders from the impersonating likes of Roseanne, Kenny Rogers, and Sammy Davis Jr. "I don't fix teeth," he snootily stresses. "I make teeth."
Taking to the front of the room, the English-accented teeth-maker fields questions from celebrity impersonators who suddenly speak in concerned tones that are completely out of character.
"Is there a device you can put in that can change the facial structure?" Sammy Davis Jr. asks.
"Absolutely. What you're looking for is called a facial plumping appliance."
"How about a big English nose?" pipes in the Rod Stewart from Canada.
"No, we don't do noses. We don't do eyes. Just teeth."
The local Fox News people arrive.
"It's time to be horny!" I cry, jumping behind the three Shania Twains singing for the camera. I start madly dancing, figuring it's a big boost for an up-and-coming Austin Powers impersonator to get more TV screen time. This goes on until Joan Rivers pushes me out of camera range.
"That's too much!" the Carmen Miranda impersonator reprimands, quickly teaching me a valuable lesson in celebrity impersonator etiquette: Never madly dance behind three Shania Twains singing for the local news. "That's really not cool. That's their moment!"
Others think differently. "You got good energy!" remarks the Joan Rivers impersonator, even though she just pushed me off camera. "First, we have to do something about that wig!" exclaims the 15-year impersonating veteran, offering to take me under her wing.
"I accidentally grabbed my Eminem wig instead of my Austin Powers," I explain, noting that I go, professionally, by the stage name Awesome Powers.
"I think you got it," states Joan Rivers' husband/manager with dead seriousness.
I nod my head vigorously and say, "I lost my moped, baby!"
"You got good energy," he expounds, suggesting that I could make as much as a few thousand dollars at a time, just for greeting people at trade shows.
"Oh, groupies, baby!" I note.
This is all starting to sound pretty darn good. I just might actually get a real Austin Powers gig from being undercover at this convention.
"Just learn a few of the key catchphrases," the fake Joan Rivers' husband/manager advises. "I think you got it!"
Of course, he's wrong. After the scene with Fox News, the three Shania Twains, and Carmen Miranda, someone leaks that I'm actually not a real Austin Powers impersonator, but an imposter Austin Powers impersonator. Yes, I'm outed (perhaps by the Rod Stewart from Canada?) as an undercover reporter.
I spend the remainder of the convention trying to avoid Joan Rivers and those who are in charge of the event, lurking in shadows, hiding behind Kenny Rogers and Jay Leno. With extreme envy, I look on as chubby Austin Powers has tourists clamoring for group photos.
"Say 'shag-a-delic'!" he quips (that's my line!) as cameras click.
"Austin, where's your outfit?" a lovable, Osbourne-dad Ozzy asks me.
"I've gone civilian," I say, making a sad face.
Little kids rush to lovable Ozzy for autographs (do they know he's not the real thing?!) while a much taller Ozzy -- more the biting-the-heads-off-bats Ozzy -- stands nearby.
"Vegas is the worst. It's a very competitive town," complains the taller, unauthorized Ozzy with the intensity of a man who has been awake for days. "If you're really good, people will turn against you."
