It was January the 4th. I rolled out of bed as I finessed a comb for my hair. I ran it through once and tossed it in the garbage. There were pistachio shells under my pillow so I threw them at the birds outside. My neighbor Linda hollered that I should check under my chair. There were more pistachio shells.
I sighed in content, knowing today was off to a normal start.
I had to be on the set of The Oprah Winfrey Show by 10:00, and sign 400 copies of my new book for Oprah's Book Club by 3:00. I had so much to do and so little time, so I threw myself into the drivers seat of my 2011 Chevy Grand Cherokee and zoomed down my street.
There were several speed bumps, but I had my best friend Howie Mandel and all his models lay and roll across every street I drove down so it all felt like even ground.
At the end of Oprah Street™, I saw the line of bodies I was to run over, but then there was a body that didn't fit in. I told Howie and all the models to wear all black so they blended in with the road, but this person was wearing ebony. I tried to skid to a stop before I hit them, but it was too late. I heard the crunch of bones that weren't models' so I pulled over to check out the scene. There was a man sprawled out on the road in twelve layers of ebony. I rolled him over and was shocked to see the face of Howard Stern.
"HOWARD! ITS A YES FROM ME! HOWARD PLEASE!" He made no movements at all, so eager to clear the scene, I had the tallest model help me pick him up and put him into my trunk. I glanced at my $50000000988 dollar golden crusted watch as it read 9:54.
Fuck it. I didn't have time to be beautiful and a hero. I fished a comb out of the glove box and ran it through Howard's hair, who was now realistically perched in my passenger seat. I had Howie sit under my seat, using his pathetic bald head as a cue ball so he knew when and which pedal to press. He had us going at a steady rate to the studio as I fixed up Howard.
I applied glue to the top of his eyelids so they'd stick to his skin. It now looked as if he was very, very engaged in conversation. I saw a truck dash in front of the intersection we were heading towards, so I stomped on Howie's head and he got the hint. Next on my beauty list, I didn't want Howard to look so Stern™. So I pulled the corners of his mouth up and pinned them there in an uncomfortable yet familiar looking smile. Last but not least, I stuck my heel up Howie's throat and held out a bucket for him to throw up into. I poured the bucket over Howard's head and used it as hair gel to give him a new look. I topped it off with a red bow only a second after we pulled into the parking lot. I checked my watch.
"YOU LITTLE BALD RAT! I'M LATE!" Hurling Howard into a foldable shopping cart I always kept handy in my trunk, I dashed into the studio.
"Miss Winfrey. You're la-"
"I know, Emily. But I'm here and that's all the people care about." I barged right past that dick, I think his name is Tony. Or Oscar. Whatever.
I made a beeline for the stage, letting the crew comb my hair once each before throwing it away and pour coffee into my mouth like my own Mrs. Potts'.
"Hello, World!!!" Enthusiastically, I tossed my proud black ass into my chair, listening to the calming sounds of an audience forced to cheer at the wave of a sign. God I love fans.
Howard, still in the shopping cart only a few feet away from me, gained a few glances but I quickly whispered-yelled for Emily or Tony or Oscar to point the air towards me. God I love fans.
I hauled Mr. Stern into the other big red chair and shook his hand, doing the acting I've won Tony and Oscar for. I picked up his hand and waved it at the audience. Moments after, I glanced at the rosary dangled from my neck and prayed to my lord for the people that loved me. God, I love fans.
Howard's eye job made him look almost convincing, but the studio lights pulled it all together. I knew I could only waste so much time smiling my Colgate™ grin. Thus, the interview began.
"Howard. How How. Bow how. Bow wow. Howie. Howadelic. Howabunga. Yeehow. Bow wow Stern. Sternskins. RumpleSternskins. The Sternster. The Stern Devil. This big wheel keeps on Sterning as we're rolling (rolling) rolling (rolling) rolling down the Howard. I said rolling (rolling) rowling jk (rolling) rowling down the Howard.
How now brown How. Ard. Howard." I finally looked up after 20 more minutes of this improvised gold to see hundreds of stunned faces, including that of Tony and Oscar. Was this the end of my career?
All of the sudden, I saw a large man dressed in a police uniform haul his ass on my stage. The nerve. Speaking of nerves, I began to feel something I never have before. Fear? Worry? Discontent? No, can't be. I'm Doperah Mother Fucking Winfrey. Not Blowprah Father Unfucking Losefrey. Never. Never again. I shook my head to clear my thoughts and smiled.
"Officer, can I help you?"
"Yes, you can, bitch. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you. In the event of- aw, fuck it." He turned towards Tony and they all smiled. "HAPPY MOTHERFLUFFING BIRTHDAY NOPRAH!!!"
The cop man strolled towards Howard and gave him a lap dance then got bored and headed towards me. My eyes widened. Oh, no. Not today. Oprah's had a good day don't sully it with your lame ass .22 cal penis. I shoved him away but his big, thick, Colgate™ arms pulled me down on top of him. The audience loved that. I hate when people show genuine emotion so I kicked him in his tiny dick just as fake as his costume.
He looked at me from the ground with his Colgate™ eyes and just laid there. Suddenly the mood changed. His Colgate™ shoes stood up right on the Colgate™ stage and my fucking Colgate™ producers didn't do a thing, even when the Colgate™ 'cop' pulled out a Colgate™ 2.6 cal handgun out of his crotch.
"Listen up, Blokerah. I've had the last of your destructive Colgate™ behavior." He pointed his aim right at my temple. He pulled the trigger, right as the unexpected happened: Howard Stern, in his shopping cart glory, wheeled himself in front of me, taking a bullet to his chest. I stared at my rosary and whispered, "God bless you, Sternie. You're a man of God. No satanist dies twice."
I was pulled out of my holy state when I heard Tony clear his throats and cock his head in the direction of the audience. They all sat there, videotaping everything like fucking circles. I hate shapes.
I heard Howie start to panic for me, "DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE HEADLINES WILL BE TOMORROW, OPRAH?????"
Yes, yes, I do, you fucking magic 8 ball.
They'll say "Oprah's On A Rollprah. A rollprah of death. To clarify, she's killing multiple people, implying that she is on a 'roll' of murder, merely using the word for the sake of a pun."
Perfect.
