If I were Oprah Winfrey, I would weigh 200 pounds too.

If I were Oprah Winfrey….

I would hire the Magnolia Bakery owner to bake treats for me 24 hours a day.

I would fund a news program that debunked every single lie that slithered out of sewage spewing mouths of Sean Hannity,  Rush Limbaugh and Mike Huckabee  The program would also highlight the incestuous connections that poison mainstream media.

I would give Joe Lieberman and Governor Hot Rod millions to retire.  Just go away!

I would make Tina Fey, Alec Baldwin, Stephen Colbert and Jon Stewart have dinner with me once a month because no one says no to me.  They would have to dress up and perform skits written by me!

I would play passive aggressive practical jokes on  Rupert Murdoch, Tina Brown, Arianna Huffington and Jann Wenner.  Just because.

I would build a separate house and hire  a full-time dog walker  for my dog, Morpheus.

I would make Ben Silverman create a show around the Midwest Teen Sex Show.

I would find a way to have Donald Trump deported to Zimbabwe.  Ha ha Mugabe, he’s your problem now!

I would have Joe Conason read me bedtime stories.

I would have Grace Jones perform for me on my birthday.

I would buy a private island, rename it Oprahphenia and have people perform interpretative dances to win an invitation to be considered for a visit.

I would pay the following ‘actresses’ to stop ‘acting’:  Jessica Biel, Kate Hudson, Jessica Alba, Jessica Simpson, Paris Hilton.  They can do ad campaigns and show up to nightclubs instead.

I would kill anyone who airs The Hills.  Not maim. Not blind with acid.  K-I-L-L. And most likely feed their body to Morpheus.

I would build a house with indoor plumbing, cable and the Internet here.

And I would have  fried chicken, chocolate cupcake and champagne for dinner every night!

Photo via american-buddha.com

From music to jail to reality show…

Introducing the Foxy Brown Show.

I’m sure she has a lot of legal fees to pay.

It’s too bad the show can’t have her moving in with ex-cons Martha Stewart and Paris Hilton teaching Foxy how to adjust to life outside of da joint. I’d watch that!

Are you listening, VH1? I know how you love that trashy yet mildly redemptive type of programming.

Report: Foxy Brown Leaving Jail Soon (UPI)

The last thing I’m going to write about Ashley Alexandra Dupre.*

I walked by her apartment in Chelsea last Friday.

I saw a huddle of camera crews and a WNBC-TV reporter sitting in a truck, scribbling notes while reading from the NY Post at the same time. The interest in this nonentity is fascinating to me because I feel that the real story will be missed. In the rush to discuss her connection to Client 9, the Emperor Club, Sean Combs, Girls Gone Wild and continued desecration of pop music, journalists will miss the big story of Ms. Dupre.

Why are so many modern girls so eager to sell their bodies and their bodies doing sex acts when they discover that they have no other real talent?

Paris Hilton, Kim Kardarshian and Ashley are three examples of girls who upon discovering that they could not act, sing, dance, write a song to open the doors to the fame and renown they so eagerly desire automatically went the path of sex tape (or in the case of Ashley, sex work) to get it?

What happened during these girls’ formative years to convince them that being lazy hos was the best thing they had to offer the good old USA? (Yeah, it makes you a lazy ho when you prefer pimping yourself out to reading a book or getting a college degree as a means to make money.) It’s almost as delusional as thinking the President of the United States is going to leave his wife for you because you allowed him to stick a cigar in your vagina.

I can’t even call these girls libertines or sexual renegades because every move they make is designed to create a lifestyle similar to the comforts and complacency of a soccer mom.

That’s what bothers me the most …. their so called sexual freedom isn’t derived from the love of a good old fashioned romp or a heightened appreciation of carnal pleasures ; it’s because they have nothing else of value to offer the world.

*Unless of course she finds the cure for cancer, AIDS and Alzheimer’s.

Fiddy tells Paris to sit down!

Page Six reports that Fiddy had security ask the reformed heiress to get off the stage during his performance at a pre-Super Bowl party Hilton was hosting for some magazine that doesn’t matter.

And that’s when the waterworks started accompanied with a dose of ‘But it’s my party’ whining.  Gah!

I believe that every time Paris Hilton cries, an angel gets its wings. Thank you Fiddy for being on the side of the angels for once!