Am I the only one not really caring that James Frey embellished a little? Who doesn’t sprinkle a little fairy dust? To listen to Oprah, you’d think the world was ending. I can just see her, storming through her library, books flying from the shelves a la Ghostbusters.
What’s the big deal? I don’t get it.
Do we want to read a boring book? No.
Do we really care how long he was in jail? Not really.
Is John Travolta’s hair color real? Uh, I don’t think so. But you don’t see Oprah calling him a big liar, grilling him about his follicles, screaming about how duped she feels. We’ve all seen Oprah sans hair and make-up.
Who’s duping who, Winfrey?
And now the poor guy’s agent dumps him. God, I love my Oprah. But once she blacklists you, you’re dead to the world. She can probably get someone audited if she hated them enough. She has presidential pardon power. Oprah decides who we go to war with, just so she can do shows about it. She’s out of control and I predict a fabulously dicey fall from grace. I mean, you know she’s a big old lesbian, right?
James Frey is alright by me.
Although what do I know? I never saw what was so horrible about Milli Vanilli not singing those fabulous songs. My biggest problem with Rob and Fab had more to do with the blazers and bike shorts combo…