You look like
you’re about to throw-up. I do not blame you. I just heard the news about your upcoming interview with Oprah. And you thought Alaska was rough! Ol’ Harpo will have you for lunch. She may in fact eat you before a studio audience. It’s not her hard-hitting journalism causing that churning in your stomach. It’s the fact that she’s drunk with power and you’ve irritated her. Oh, and she owns everyone, so there won’t be anyone to pull her off you. I know, I know, you’re all rogue and shit. So what? She’s the most powerful of all the one-namers. Cher and Madonna are her guests. She calls the shots. And you are about to get fucked up James Frey-style.What is with you, woman? You’re like the discarded ex-wife who can’t digest the divorce. You just keep showing up, “Hey, it’s Sarah, I got my book. Who wants to read it?” I have news for you lady, those people clamoring to read your book are CRAZY! They’re called “the fringe” for a reason. Most of them would like to stuff you and have you as their little doll. The only women who survive in that particular neck of the woods look like this:
Notice anything? Hey, it’s your eyeballs’ funeral, but don’t say nobody warned you. If Oprah doesn’t finish you off herself, she’ll piss them off so bad they’ll martyrize you immediately. Do you know anything about martyrs? No? Well you might want to look into that.
Sincerely,
So What? You're Famous.
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