Thursday, January 06, 2005


"Hire Oprah's Trainer!"

That's the advertisement that popped up during my morning WaPo check.

Yeah, I'd like to hire Oprah's personal trainer. So I can beat the shit out of him.

Why the hell do I have to constantly hear about Oprah's weight loss? Not even a team of Romanian gymnasts is this concerned about losing weight. Especially since her weight yo-yo's more often than Duncan? For. Years.

I swear, her weight is like the tides. Sun rises, sun sets. Oprah drinks smoothies, Oprah becomes smoothie.
"Make Oprah's Personal Trainer Your Very Own!"
Sounds like a great idea. And then, once I owned Oprah's personal trainer, I'd dress him up in a gimp outfit and lock him in a box filled with a wheelbarrow's worth of Oprah fat.

The only thing worse than her obsession with losing weight is Oprah magazine. Not that I can remember ever reading an issue. I'm usually a Barely Legal man.

No, I hate Oprah Magazine (abbreviated "O," which serves the same purpose as the acronym KFC: it sounds less fucking fat). I can't believe anyone would be so egotistical as to always put themselves on the cover of every issue. Girlfriend, the magazine is named after you. How much more advertising do you need?

I wonder what other publications would look like if they followed this rule. Steve Forbes on the copy of every Forbes? Hugh Hefner on the cover of every Playboy?

Excuse me, I'm going to walk away from my keyboard now, and go have myself a Breakfast Dew and Snickers bar or six.

I almost commented to a stranger while in a grocery line last week when I say that mag cover. How self-focused do you have to be to repeatedly put yourself on your mag? Anyway, I don't know who is more to blame for the Oprah weight fascination - the star/tabloid chasers, or the stupid American women. To be honest, I couldn't give a shit about movie stars weight, pregnancies, or marriages. They trumpet this crap ... to which I give a resounding, SO WHAT?!
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