(continued)

It's hardly surprising, as the real Britney Spears continues her slow-motion flameout, that Mini Britney is enjoying a full-fledged mini-moment. With Jole, there are no flashes of mini-vagina as she gets out of a car, nor any mini-meltdowns involving head shaving or umbrella-thrashing. Jole doesn't have kids, so she's not fighting custody battles with her once-buffoonish, suddenly-responsible-seeming ex-husband. She doesn't get into hit-and-run accidents and doesn't perform excruciating routines on national television in a bedazzled two-piece. She's everything we ever wanted in Britney, and less.

Like Spears herself, Jole is 27, a Southern Christian girl who sports the same buttery blonde hair the singer had at the height of her fame. Like Britney, she has been singing since she was five, and spent years on the local talent show circuit. She was born to two average-size parents (Dad is a real estate inspector, Mom drives a UPS truck) who subsequently adopted another Little Person, a boy named Bourn who now manages a grocery store. She and her brother were fortunate, Jole says of their childhood in San Antonio. "I've had some close friends of mine who were shoved in lockers," she explains, but for the most part, she was treated well.

Still, one high school incident in particular continues to irk her. Every year she auditioned for the school choir, only to be turned down. When she finally made the cut her senior year, someone admitted that the other rejections had been because she didn't "look right."

"It crushed me when they told me that," Jole says. "It made me not even want to be in the choir. At the same time, it made me want to show off for the teacher and prove that I was not only capable, but way better than a lot of the people she already had in that choir."

Like any celebrity, Jole projects the air of someone who is accustomed to being the center of attention: polite and friendly, but guarded. But her girlish demeanor belies an ambitious side. She turned down a lucrative role as an elf in the Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular for what she sees as her shot at a real career—a regular gig headlining Little Legends at the Harmon (which becomes the infamous gay nightclub Krave by night), near Planet Hollywood on the Strip. The show claims to be the first to feature an entire cast of Little People as celebrity impersonators. In addition to Spears, Jole performs as Cher ("If I Could Turn Back Time"), Madonna ("Like a Virgin"), and Alanis Morissette ("Hand in My Pocket"). She also joins the rest of the cast as the cowboy in a rousing Village People finale.

At present, the show's lineup also includes Joe Gnoffo as Mini Tommy Lee (who is-shhh!-dating Mini Britney), and Adam and Abdoul Kone, two three-foot, nine-inch-tall brothers from the Ivory Coast who perform as dueling Michael Jacksons and do a crowd-pleasing Mini Vanilli that includes the duo's famous chest bump. Originally, the act included a Mini Tina Turner, but she refused to relocate from L.A., and Mini Kid Rock, played by Mighty Mike, was dropped because he was considered "challenging" to work with. But the rest of the cast is eager to take up the slack.

One October evening, the crowd ambles into the theater. It's 6:30, early by Vegas standards, and the audience is a mix of little old ladies, paunchy middle-age men with flattops, and younger couples from Midwestern towns—some with streaks of magenta spiffing up their otherwise conservative haircuts. Though many of them are probably expecting something of a gag (one young woman giggles that she's come because "I've always had a fear of midgets, so I wanted to see them up close"), the show is no joke. Before it begins, two screens flanking the stage flash a series of earnest PSAs: DWARFISM OCCURS ONE IN EVERY 40,000 BIRTHS, notes one. Another reminds the patrons that Little People are four feet tall, not four years old.

The venue wasn't always so high-minded. Kelly Murphy, the theater's co-owner and the show's creator, admits that Krave once hosted a "midget wrestling" event. But he claims he had an epiphany after meeting Jole and her crew. "We found out nobody has actually taken a Little Person and said, 'Instead of you being the sideshow, we're gonna make you the headliner,'" Murphy explains. "Whatever handicaps they do or don't have, they
really are a very talented group of people." Jole's performance bears that out.

From the second she comes out as Alanis Morissette, Jole controls the room. She flirts with grandfathers, shakes her booty, and high-fives people. Though the audience can barely see her as she walks past the tables, her voluptuous, powerful voice booms over the theater's sound system. Her delivery is so pitch-perfect, she could almost be lip-synching, but Alanis never sounded this good. "Wow, she's singing! She's got a voice on her!" says Chad Swanson from Marshall, Minnesota, who's in town for his honeymoon. "No way! Holy crap!" replies his new wife, Heidi.

During the much-anticipated Britney medley before the show's end, Jole does her patented "triple strip," starting with the blue flight attendant outfit from the "Toxic" video, which she peels off to reveal the all-nude crystal-studded bodysuit, and finally the red leather "Oops" outfit. Throughout, Jole's performance is smooth, swift, and commanding. She is confident and sure-footed. For a moment, it really is like Mini Britney has restored the fallen Britney to her rightful status of Number One Star in the World.

After the show, two girls gossip in the ladies' room, enthusing over Jole's performance. "She's so talented," says one, applying lip gloss. "She's so pretty," says the other. The girl who was afraid of midgets declares her intention to return for a repeat performance.
Backstage, the host, Jeff Hobson, a Vegas stage vet of average size, is changing into his street clothes. "I feel like the minority here, I really do," he says, with a laugh, "But, you know, they all look up to me." The MC, who boasts an impressively shellacked helmet of light red hair and a fabulous Liberace-style jacket collection, then turns serious. "At first, when people come in, they're not quite sure what to think," he says. "They're like, 'Should we laugh?' They don't want to offend anyone. That's why you need a host to explain."

Jeff Beacher, who owns a rival venue, has never been particularly concerned about such niceties, opting instead to adapt the down-market spectacle of the carnival midway to the modern celebrity era. "That Hard Rock show wasn't showcasing her talent, that's for sure," says Perez of the wacky comedy routine.
"It was so horrible," Jole says. "I really didn't want to make fun of Britney."

Even so, Beacher knows how to pack a room (he even rented Jole a snake so she could re-create Britney's "I'm a Slave 4 U" performance from MTV's 2001 VMAs), and often filled his 1,400-seat venue to capacity.

A natural promoter in the P.T. Barnum mode, he is extremely adept at manipulating the press. Once, when he announced a Mini Kiss show only to discover that the band already had a booking, Beacher assembled his own entourage of Little People Kiss impersonators and dubbed them Tiny Kiss. Then he launched a fake battle between the two bands, landing a lead item in the New York Post's Page Six and creating a slew of bookings for both acts.

When Jole defected to Krave, Beacher retaliated with a reprise of his Tiny Kiss stunt. He alerted local gossip columnists to the arrival of a new Mini Britney on the scene and announced her debut at the Madhouse. The ploy made national news.

Only this time, there wasn't a new Mini Brit. After days of leaving voice mails and text messages pleading with Jole to ditch Krave and return to the Madhouse, Beacher staged a paparazzi-style photo op featuring another Little Person wearing a blonde wig getting out of a car. But as the date of the promised gig approached, he found himself unable to deliver an actual performer. Rather than accepting defeat, he decided to milk the controversy further by performing the act himself. It was an amazing display, even by Vegas standards: Clad in a glittery two-piece black bikini, the grossly overweight showman took to the stage and reenacted Britney's much maligned "Gimme More" performance from the VMAs. Since Beacher had recently undergone intestinal surgery, his bare stomach resembled two grotesque flaps—further augmented by a fake spray tan.

"It was horrific," said one Vegas industry insider. "I texted him during the show that my eyes were burning, and he actually replied back as soon as he was offstage, saying his eyes were burning, too."

With Jole, there are no flashes of mini-vagina as she gets out of a car, nor any mini-meltdowns involving head shaving or umbrella-thrashingIn the absurd world of Las Vegas nightlife, wars erupt over the smallest scraps. Increasingly resentful of Jole's growing success, Beacher now claims he invented Mini Britney, insisting that numerous Little People did the act before Jole. She vehemently denies the charge. Beacher further alleges that Little Legends is a direct rip-off of a concept he came up with called Tiny Legends, which would feature "MWA (Midgets With Attitude), Tiny Kiss, Wee-Tang Clan, Tiny Michael Jackson, David Wee Roth, and Mini Federline" (but strangely, no Mini Britney). Documents supplied by Beacher confirm he applied for the trademark in April 2007, but his application was denied because there was already a Little Legends clothing company in existence—separate from the Harmon Theater group.

Krave's Kelly Murphy says that though he's aware of Beacher, he's never met him or seen his show, and that the Krave staff hit upon the Little Legends idea after hearing about Jole's turn at Piranha. In addition, he dismisses the notion that anyone can actually claim credit for the basic concept. "Having Little People impersonate famous people is no different than a drag queen going out and impersonating famous people. I have that in my club all day long," Murphy says, noting that he has yet to receive any formal complaint from Beacher. "Jeff Beacher is welcome to mount a competing show," he adds. "He's welcome to do whatever he can that will help employ Little People. I'm all about that."

For his part, Beacher has long been prone to exaggeration. For instance, not long ago, he placed a Page Six item titled "Budget Britney" claiming he signed Jole to a "mid-six-figure" contract—but now admits he'd never offered her any such deal. "She left the Madhouse," he says. "Guess what? It makes no difference. When I was tired of Mini Britney, Mini Britney was played out and I didn't want to see it anymore, I created Big Britney—which was myself, 'cause it's a spoof. It's a joke. The whole thing's a joke," he adds, a mite bitterly. "Mini Britney is a mini-fraud."