Thanks, I find what I can.
There is audio of Bernadette doing this song at Carnegie Hall, but no video. This being a "video" forum, I don't submit audio-only files from YouTube. Bernadette's SNL version, as I recall from the 80s, had her in an evening gown, draped over the piano, and singing with that sincere "broadway musical" delivery. It was really, really funny.

Thanks! I think he's cute too.

Yes the masks of old are what I referred to as "Face Humidifiers" because of the the amazing amount of condensation that would accumulate on the inside of them from your own breath.

Halloween costumes back in the day were barely a step above hospital gowns.

You are likely to be eaten by a grue.
If this predicament seems particularly cruel,
consider whose fault it could be:
not a torch or a match in your inventory.

It got narrated at you in the second person.
Every time you booted up, it seemed you got another version
of your life told to you by a status line blinking,
the impossible people you could be without thinking
yourself insane of personality problems,
with a mop on a drop ship or trying to stab a goblin.
That don’t play in public life. You get arrested,
psychoactive medication daily in your big intestine
and attesting that the voices in your head
said the dwarf shot first, embedded arrow then you bled.
But doctors with needles posit repeatedly
that you knocked down that midget in the park unneededly.
This has seeded the idea that you should
never venture from the house, never get misunderstood
by the non-player characters inhabiting Earth,
none of whom are too concerned about Nord & Bert,
not one of whom ever aimed a fish around the room,
trying to get it in the ear canal because doom
beset the last planet they were on, or near
the verge of a set of poetics they wouldn’t hear.
Never peered at the clues with invisible ink.
No SM goddesses ever gave them pause to think.
Never piloted six robots, each distinct.
Don’t matter how many 2-liters they drink,
they’re not gonna follow what you’re saying at all.
They impugn and appall in the scope of their gall,
as you hide in your room in disgust with the lights turned out.
Turn ‘em on in a turn. Leave ‘em off for now.

You read a pamphlet from a mailbox that urges low cunning,
offers cursor and prompt: type >run and you’re running,
and parses what you tell it, pronouns intact,
abbreviations if you need ‘em (better keep it gramat.).
Better punctuate your sentences and never redact
the name of anything ambiguous. You’re about to get asked,
do you mean the red one, the round one, the crooked, or the blue?
Better keep that in your pocket, don’t know yet what it could do.
Could be the spray for the grue; you’re gonna need it if it is —
a situation that reloads, restarts, or quits.
Wonder how many points out of how many points
you’ve got to get before you’re done. Endeavor then to rejoice,
when you wish more ardently, identities shed,
for continuance, the rhyme forever voyaging. Fled
from all lights and colors, from all smells and sound:
just the lyric on the monochrome display and you’re proud
to make another verse appear by solving riddles.
If you didn’t have to sleep, you know you’d never seek acquittal.
You’d be ever in the middle and the midst of quest.
If it weren’t for >don the gown. you’d never get dressed.
In your underwear typing, just like Front,
keyboard attached up to my fingers — wrists bear the brunt —
as I seek to do stunts simply through their descriptions.
I think I went once to some sands that were Egyptian.
And I retain plane tickets, snapshots, receipts,
yet I stand unconvinced that this has happened to me.
I wouldn’t want to misremember or get confused.
Recall of crawling towards a pyramid appearing over dunes.
Recall of entering the thing and descending stairs.
Does it descend from there, adventure to nightmare?
Did I battle a snake? Was the treasure intact?
Or did the TRS-80 in my brain get hacked?
Thanks, Grampa, for buying it. Now my life’s ruined.
Twenty-two years later, head’s infested: got the grue in.
PLUGHing, XYZZYfying, trying to escape,
but I can’t ‘cause I’m up and around and awake.

I have to disagree with you there, legacy. I bet you if you stepped in her living room, the walls would be FILLED with trophies spanning her years in these contests since preschool. The type of commitment it takes to get to the top in pageantry leaves little time for an education.

Her parents I'm sure have had to dish out thousands of dollars on voice, dance, music, and acting lessons. Oh boy I can't even imagine what they've spent on wardrobe, makeup, dental work, gowns and travel expenses!

This isn't soccer camp or cheerleading tryouts where they can tell her "Its ok as long as you have fun". This lifestyle is an investment and don't think for one minute it's anything less. These parents are looking for a return too.

I'm SURE that she's been well trained to speak in public, and she would have been fine up there if the question was on a topic she had been coached on before.

Oh, how I hate creepy little girls in night gowns. My daughter will never own one.

James Roe, I was thinking the exact same thing when they showed the black guy in cap-n-gown during "soul interlude." The whole thing is a beautiful travesty.