“My fellow Americans, friends, citizens, ladies and gentleman, it is with the deepest solemn respect and mourning that I make the following tragic announcement: Oprah is dead.”
That’s how it will go. Some future president of unknown race, sex or ethnic origin, sooner or later, but with certainty rivaled only by the coming of a new day’s sun, will one day interrupt current programming to announce the passage into oblivion of an American icon, Oprah Winfrey.
Yep.
Oprah is gonna die, and the world will mourn her passing for a time period and with a fervor generally reserved for religious prophets and presidents who ended slavery or single-handedly repelled the Zarcon Expeditionary Regiment in the first Intergalactic War using only a prototype stealth hover-tank, a gallon of water, a filthy jumpsuit and uncommon cunning.
Most of you have never tried to imagine a world without Oprah. Why? Because it’s impossible. If you were given the dubious task of taking charge of a magic eraser and with an unlimited budget set out to travel the world purging all things that represent Oprah in pop culture, you would go mad and/or die of hyperschlockalkemia far before your mission would be one-tenth of one percent complete. This is a scientific fact, proven by… scientists… I think. You get the idea.
I’m fairly certain that there is a one-for-one manufacturing agreement with the Coca Cola Corporation that for every single unit of Coke produced – be it can or bottle – one needs to display the image of Oprah either on the TV, in the bookstore, broadcast her voice on the radio, plaster the interweb with her photograph or interview, put her face on a custom birthday cake made by that chubby dude with the stupid ‘flavor-savor’ goatee who goes by the name “Duff” on the Food Network, spell out her name over the Super Bowl with a sky-writing biplane, have her be a non-playing character in the newest Final Fantasy video game, etc.
As US citizens, we are inundated with all things Oprah and her related brands and balding, preachy, mono-dimensional lackeys, i.e. Dr. Phil. Tune into the recent Academy Awards? Oprah did a long-winded, overly dramatic speech before the Best Actress award was handed off. What does Oprah, a daytime TV hostess whose show has been in syndication for twenty-three years, know about acting? Oh, well, funny you ask; SHE WAS NOMINATED FOR THE SAME AWARD. A Golden Globe too. That was in 1985, two years before said syndication.
Oprah Winfrey is the first female African-American billionaire. Remember my article about Jesus where I broke down just how many things a billion is? No? Great. Way to inflate my ego. With fans like this… I digress. Here, I’ll quote myself:
“If one was to count to one billion at a rate of one number per second it would take thirty-one years, two hundred and fifty-one days, seven hours, forty-six minutes and thirty-nine seconds.”
Now imagine those seconds are dollars fundamentally earned because a charismatic and admittedly intelligent person sat in a chair for a few hours a week asking celebrities questions. This should kind of make you a bit annoyed. If not, you have absolutely no class anger at all and probably think that the Bush family actually gives a shit about your family business, and that healthcare and insurance corporations really have all of our best interests in mind.
I know that it’s far too late to do anything about Oprah’s rule over all media. And this isn’t an attempt to do so. This is pre-pleading to cease the insanity that will be the mourning period for Oprah’s death. I already cannot take the constant shoveling of her pre-humus works into my eyes and ears that will, without a doubt, begin about thirteen seconds after she’s pronounced dead by the paramedics or physician who will, in those thirteen seconds, already be on their fourth interviews for Dateline, 60 Minutes, USA Today and Time Magazine.
Let’s not even start in on the special Nobel Prize that she’ll be awarded posthumously.
Do you remember what happened when Michael Jackson finally met his very predictable end? I hope you do, because it’s still going on. You still can’t go into a public place and not see or hear some reference or work of Michael Jackson. And he was a CHILD MOLESTER. We have spent the last near-year being forced to feel sympathy for a dead pederast because people liked the way he sang and danced before he got totally creepy, at least in the public eye. The leader of the free world lamented upon his passing, and dude liked to touch little boys and dangle babies over balconies. See what I’m saying?
Do you understand the full gravity of this problem?
Well I draw the line in the sand now, while I still can, before anybody can say I’m just being reactionary. I will not participate in one moment of silence for Oprah. I will not watch any stirring autobiographies for her. I will not buy a T-shirt with her image upon it and the word “RIP.” I will not do anything but die laughing when those who do not have one billion dollars lament how special she was.
I have nothing against the woman, but if you say the name Mitch Hedberg out loud, people look at you with an expression indicating complete confusion, and that guy was a genius. But bust out a copy of Oxygen Magazine and all of the sudden you are part of the club. It’s the cult of celebrity that is the enemy.
If only it would die with its martyrs.
Unless it’s James Callis. He’s gonna be on Eureka! Long live he who was Baltar.
