August 17th, 2009
I’d like to see more women giving chest bumps. Jesus Harold Christ. Guys get to do it. It’s such a term of endearment and I think potential female friends could truly benefit from this gesture that implies the sentiment, “Hey you’re OK, let’s have a slumber party and talk about boys." For the pervs perusing this entry, I’ll even throw in a pillow fight for fantasy purposes. You’re welcome. It has occurred to me that the only..THE ONLY way the estrogen fueled chest bumping trend can sweep the nation is if Oprah and Gail do it. Hey, they’re bumping in other ways. No I didn’t. Oh yes. Yes, I did.
I am not a “Fan of Oprah.” Yet I am a proud member of the Facebook group, “Fan of Not Being on Fire.” I am prepared for the backlash from Midwestern middle age women who are seduced by the media personality, Academy Award nominated actress, producer, literary critic and magazine publisher. But what is missing from her resume is STAR FUCKER.
She drools over and gazes at fellow celebrities the way I fawned over my brother’s friends in high school when I was a freshman and he was a senior. Opes, you don’t need to be blowing smoke up the asses of the John Travoltas, Jennifer Anistons and Tom Cruises because you’re already at the top of your game. I mean if you had a baby with Obama it would be Black Jesus. Or Bono.
You know who does need to be a star fucker? Me. This one right here. Why? Because I'd open to doing an unpaid set at an old age home at 2PM on a Sunday..
Well, maybe not Sunday because that’s the day we celebrate, praise and chant the fundamental principles and beliefs of The Oprah.
Poor St. Francis of Stedman