Seven Reasons Oprah Should Interview Me

 1.  Given the same moral guidelines as Lance Armstrong I too could have won the Tour de France 7 times and happily given an interview down the street from my 8000 square foot mansion admitting to this wrong doing . . . after being painted into a corner of no retreat by 12 witnesses, 38 failed drug tests, and a dozen text messages warning me of drug testers at my remote hotel in Spain.

2.  Secondly, but by no means less important than an international fraud, I can sob uncontrollably upon demand.  I am in my second year of menopause, therefore with little effort I can cry like a cat caught in the clothes dryer one minute and jump on the couch like a meth addicted hillbilly the next.  I guarantee a mesmerized audience and can be paid off with a bag of Snickers bars.

3.  I plan on running for President of the United States because God told me too.  I am not a soccer Mom or the winner of a beauty contest.  I am however, often the subject of small town gossip which on the surface may appear boring but throw in a few words like “witch” or “snake handling” and you got yourself a crowd pleaser.

4.  I have a serious drug problem.  There is no way for me to get through the day without a handful of ibuprofen and five Icy Hot patches.  I've been strung out on I-Cool for the past two years and to the shame of friends and family used Preparation H for purposes not outlined on the box.

5.  I am the leader of the vigil anti group SST.  This grassroots society is dedicated to the elimination of idiotic words and phrases being used in the media, hence the name Stop Saying That.  Lines such as, “Let me be clear,” are symbolically burned at each meeting.   We as human beings with real ears expect people to be clear without stating it.  If they cannot be clear then it would be best to say nothing at all.  Our mantra and core belief is, “People do kill people, but they can do it faster with a gun.”

6.  There is clear evidence after 5 weeks of calculations that the amount of fat I have lost over the past twenty years well exceeds the holding limit of a red wagon.  After weighing all lifestyle factors including twenty Thanksgivings, 352 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, 58 jars of Hellman’s, 36 cases of Slim Fast, power walking that covered six of the seven states seen from Lookout Mountain, a bucket of laxatives, and more than 852 reruns of the Gilmore Girls watched from the sweaty seat of a Schwinn 240 Recumbent Exercise Bike, I have lost enough fat to fill a 1975 Volkswagen Bus/Vanagon Transporter.  Anything less than a standing ovation is unacceptable.

7.  According to medical experts at the Elm Hill Pike Walk-In Clinic, I have the first diagnosed case of Facedephobia, the fear of Facebook.  I have written a book about horrific incidents that occurred less than 12 hours after becoming a member of Facebook.  Good people I once thought of as family began posting unflattering pictures of me.  Emails instructing me to, “comment; see comment, follow comment  . . . look who else commented,” plagued my every move.  Nagging reminders of people’s birthdays and anniversaries began to funnel in.   Businesses refused me discounts unless I liked them on Facebook.  Soon the panic attacks started as phone calls filtered in several times a day with friends wanting to know why I had not FaceBooked them.   My book, “How Facebook Tried to Eat Me” is a wonderful edition to Oprah’s Book Club and a perfect opportunity to offer free Prozac prescriptions to audience members.