I'm Turning Into Oprah...For One Day

Yesterday I briefly brushed up against issues of misplaced ego. Today I've posted four images of myself on my blog, to emphasize the point. I can do this because, like Oprah, Martha and (the) Donald, I'm a billionaire who calls the shots.

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Have you noticed that Oprah is on the cover of her magazine every month? Of course you have. Even if you're someone like me who has never bought or read Oprah's magazine, you can't have escaped it while waiting to pay for your groceries. It was a pleasant shock to see Michelle Obama on the cover while buying my April groceries. She was the first person, other than the big O herself, to grace the cover in the magazine's nine year history. Even Martha Stewart gives us a break from her smiling mug once in a while. I suppose arranging photoshoots in a corrections institution made life difficult for the editors at Martha Stewart Living, as you might imagine...

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Shucks, pinstripes again! Martha, have you got anything else you can wear? What about that pumpkin jumpsuit with the platinum cuffs?

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It seems odd to think that Martha spent time in jail. I mean, she was hardly a threat to the public. It's not that she was likely to go after the judge or jury with anything more menacing than a double-barreled glue gun.

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Donald Trump has made three unsuccessful attempts to have his own magazine. His last foray into self-aggrandized publishing was a magazine called, not surprisingly, Trump. It lasted two years, if that. Sales were not brisk.

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Donald, you're fired.

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When I start 'L', the leisurologist's magazine, I expect to be on the cover every month. Who better than me? Like Tigger, I'm think that I'm the only one. Surely there must be other leisurologists out there, but I've not met any in my sorry Maytag repairman life. Can you think of any other leisurologists? If you can, then please let me know. Remember, a leisurologist is someone who survives, prospers and frolicks without employment. Don't bother submitting the names of retirees or Ken Apppleby, they've been disqualified for sins in a former life.

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Sins, eh? I'll apologize upfront for the sinful windsurfing butt cleavage image. I've been eating a lot of eggs on the hundred mile diet, so the egg marketing board's 'get cracking' message seems to have taken hold. I'm not the only adherent...I saw the San Andreas Fault spilling out of the backside of someone's monstrous shorts at the motocross races on Sunday. I think that guy was on his own version of the hundred mile diet...eating everything within a hundred miles.

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I love public displays of crack, they can turn a boring trip to the mall into a joyous occasion. The coveted butt crack, with thong soaring high above, is the holy grail for cracktologists. I saw one at the Regent Mall a few years ago. I thought it was a bra strap with a rat tail, at first, because it was so high up, but it was a thong/crack combo that still, to this day, is indelibly burned into my mind.

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I'm not the lone cracktologist...there's even a web site devoted to butt cracks. (note: I found it while doing research for this blog and, I assure you, it was not something bookmarked on my computer from my adolescent phase...which I'm still enjoying very much). This web site, along with a leisurologist's blog and a failed Trump enterprise, are all sure signs of the pending apocalypse. Or at least the collapse of western society.

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Oprah, Martha and Donald get a lot of media coverage to fuel their western society egos. I don't crave that kind of coverage as I'm more into uncoverage. The can be no buts about it.