Into the Frey

First Oprah dragged James Frey onto her sofa for a verbal thrashing regarding the facts of his none-to-factual memoir. Now my former reality tv co-host is calling me out regarding the veracity of the very same blog you, my cherished friend, are reading right now in the comfort of your very own pajamas whilst you sip the very same hot cocoa you made before sitting down to read this very exact same blog that Oprah dare call me out on!!!

How incredulous of her! I’m outraged. I’m also beside myself with absolute blinding…

TERROR!

I’m addled with anxiety. Oprah could crush me if she so felt the whim, likely financially and physically! Dealing with Oprah is like waking up on a sunny morning at your favorite nude, pagan, gay, swingers campground to find a bear staring at you.

NO! Not that kind of bear. An actual living, breathing, ready-to-eat-you bear. What do you do? Do you react? If you react then the bear might attack! Do you just wait it out? Maybe the bear will eat some garbage and leave? Do you play dead? No! The bear will pounce. I heard you’re supposed to take your jacket and make yourself appear larger than life in an attempt to trick the bear! Me? Larger than life? And who has a jacket at a gay, nude campground?!?!

If my larger than life antics haven’t spooked Oprah already, nothing will.

Oh fiddle sticks! Why, oh why do these mendacious memoirists resort to such flim-flam fiction. They’ve ruined it for the rest of us. Now the magnifying glasses are poised for closer inspection and this auntie is certain to burst into flames!

So Oprah’s people have asked my people if I’ll step into her gladiator’s arena and explain my blog to her. She wants proof that everything I’ve said on these black-as-sin pages is true, true, true.

And of course it is, but how do I prove that? Do I take Michaud with me? He’d laugh at me. Besides, he’s dating some woman now. I think she’s a DJ on East Village Radio. Whatever. I can’t talk to him without feeling… all warm inside. Oh, I can’t stand it.

Etienne won’t validate my claims. He’s absolutely furious with Oprah by way of her sycophant psychologist Dr. Phil. He did some interior design work for Dr. Phil. The kind doctor was less than kind with the critique of the royal crown molding Etienne installed in his New York condo.

I do believe this harassment by Oprah’s people isn’t even about the truthiness of my blog, but rather the terrible press she received after our failed reality television serial, America’s Next Top Strudel.

SOBS! I fear for my literary reputation. Oprah could very well “frey” me alive on national television. Tut, tut. Ah, thank you. I do hate to harp.

Oh…If only Rachel Ray would return my calls.