An Analysis of the ins and outs of Oprah's bedroom

Ah, it is what it is, and it is late.... I am pooped out, but not in the mood for going to bed. Does that make any bit of sense? Anyway, I need to apologize to Devo, for it's been so busy I haven't read her thoroughly, and now I am so behind. The weird thing is that her meme and my meme had a couple answers so close together - we both don't get physics (but in actuality, it must be some weird physics thing in itself that we both commented this at the same time - some law of ignorance in close proximity or something. Also, I had typed that I don't like backseat parents but then erased it lest I sound like Fred MacMurray or something. And then whammo, Devo's got the same thing. Cool, baby. Strange but not a stranger, as the Talking Heads sang.
Anyway, I apologize for the lack of comments. Mea Culpa.
So why don't I understand physics? I don't rightly know. But the other day, for example, I was in the Tim's drive thru and noticed this metal poll next to the window, to stop cars from crashing in wall or some damn thing. So I thought it was a good idea and then my mind went to "what is it made out of, and since matter cannot be created or destroyed (or so I think that's the truth, maybe I am confused), how did they get matter to form these chemicals to make the concrete or rubber or whatver the post was made of? And why haven't we run out of matter yet? That must mean that we only have so much we can deal with, and the possibilities aren't endless because we can't create matter. So that just confuses me.

On a sad note, my second oldest and dearest friend in the world (remember, my oldest friend in the world is a crack whore now or something), Margo, lost her precious Meathead this weekend. You know, there is nothing one can say in these things. Having gone through it, I know there isn't all that much to say, but I send her a big virtual hug. I remember when she bought that big old piece of fur - he was one in a million, and that's the only way to describe him. He was jealous of me and would hump me non-stop. Well, either that, or I resemble some hot bitch with an ass full of Alpo. In any case, the only way to stop him from riding me was to give him some kleenex to eat. He was just such a big oaf of a dog, and him and Margo were so cute together. He was there with her through the thick and the thin, through the lean years where Margo was single, and then he was accepted by Rochelle. He was just what she needed when she was single and I am so glad that she has Rochelle now. It's not easy accepting someone's dog, but she did. Rochelle, you are the best - you are comforting my Margs and I am so thankful she has you. You really have made her happier and for the first time since I've known her, content. And helping her through this time really shows just how lucky Margo is. So here's to you, Rochelle Robinson. Jesus loves you more than you will know.
Ok, what the hell else.... I realize this isn't all that interesting. Oh, a shout out to Jenny from the block, who delurked. If you are the Jenny with braces, I too used to lurk and read you, but I don't think I can find you now. Welcome.
Hey, I had a revelation the other day, thanks to Joni. She was 36 years ahead of her time. I was listening to Sarah McLaclan's remake of Blue, which I don't mind, except for the part where they multi-track her vocals, which is distracting. Anyway, as I was singing the lyrics, I realized how apt they are for these people who feel the need to get tattoos left and right. For those who don't know Blue, the song begins "Blue/Songs are tattoos/You know I've been to sea before/crown and anchor me/oh let me sail away.... and THEN, later on the lyrics ".....ink on a pin/underneath the skin/an empty space to fill in" and it was an aha moment. I felt like Oprah, sitting in my robe with no make up, whilst Gail was relaxing my hair. I just thought how those lines sum up all these people who get these tattoos and try to be all spiritual with their yin/yang shit and chinese letters and stuff and really, they just got the picture out of the Enquirer or something. But they are needing something and missing something and so they do this to themselves.. an empty space to fill in. Sadly, they'll realize that piercings and tattoos do not make the man/woman. No sireee bob..... it will just leave ugly, tacky, cheap-ass bullshit staining their body. Joan saw the truth in this in 1971. Rock on, Joni baby.
Oh piss willie, this is a boring post. I just don't feel funny today. Or interesting. But I do have this urgent need to listen to Blue. Speaking of Oprah, you ever pictured her and Stedman doing it? Come on CHunks, I know you have. She'd be all "mmm hhmmm, you think you will be putting that in my va-jay-jay?" and he'll be cringing that she said such a stupid thing, but since it's Oprah, he'd have to play along and be all "Yes, let me set down my briefcase and then I'll approach your "va-jay-jay" with aplomb." And then Dr. Oz will pop out of nowhere in a pair a scrubs saying "c'mon Stedman, her va-jay-jay is the most elastic organ in her body, because it's comprised of a million muscles and nerves, and it's so flexible, and self cleaning like an oven, and I recommend a zinc lozenge and some vitamin D to protect your virility. Look at that va-jay-jay! Look at that member under your suit - the body is a miraculous wonderland!" And then Bob Greene will poke his head in the window saying "if you pump her at a velocity of 45 thrusts for the first minute, and then only 30 thrusts the second minute, and do 4 reps of these (as long as your heart rate is reaching it's maximum rate, you can have an extra creme brule when you are done." Then Vernon will show up and say "Stedman... you need a trim anywhere first? You know how particular she is about nappiness anywhere on your body." Rosie the chef will saunter in saying "Oprah made me rich with that lame cook book - hell, I'll sleep with whoever y'all want, if that gets your freak on." Gail will be on the phone saying "girl, you are getting you some... I want to get me some... help Stella get her groove back, ok sug?" Then all those serious looking white producer ladies who work for her who look like they haven't 35'd, let along 69'd in their lives, would be all "ok, good, good, she's doing it. Let's go wait in our offices until she's done." Maya Angelou will throw on a handsome new kerchief and dashiki and write a poem that goes something like "on the mountain, we rise/rise like the stallion/ the queen is riding the stallion to freedom in the African sunset! FREEDOM!" Toni Morrision would weigh in with a short story about a ghost wanting to do it like celebrity, and then 48 pages following that you won't understand but will feel too dumb to admit it. Josh Grobin will be at the bedside, hiding behind his curls, singing some songs in Latin to get her purring like a kitten. Oh course, her best friend John Travolta will fly in for the event, saying "I've never actually slept with a woman, but I would with you if you were a Scientologist." And then Julia Roberts would pop by and make some risotto for after the loving.
And that, my friends, is the sex life of steadman and oprah, the ron jeremy and traci lords of the talk show circuit. DOn't even get me started on Connie Chung and Maury......
Have a good Tuesday, you sexy creatures you!