Oprah, This Is For You

Here is an amusing article:

http://gawker.com/5119868/oprah-winfreys-liars-club

If you haven't heard, Oprah's recent picks of sad autobiographies have hilariously turned out to be all lies, from Frey's recovering druggie to the Holocaust runaway who was reared by wolves to the latest, a Holocaust survivor who claimed to have met his wife at the fence of one of the camps. Every one of these writers were praised by Oprah and recommended by her reading club, and thus, shot up in the bestselling lists.

I hope Oprah won't give up on memoirs. Because I'm writing one. Here's a short synopsis of my book, tentatively titled Every Little Step:

When I was a little girl, I ran away from my brutal stepfather who planned to sell me to this older man who already had eleven wives. I was determined not to be the twelfth. So I escaped on foot from the family castle. Unfortunately, in those days, I still bound my feet.

Oh, the pain of running in bound feet! Every step was torture, like big iron tongs burning my three-inch stumps. Only the thought of my future husband, the evil Wascally Wang, and the knowledge that he'd surely subjugate me as his property, made me hobble along even faster.

I made my way through the Malaysian jungles, which were filled with thorny bushes that cut into my bound feet, right through my bindings and bloodying my tender mishappened flesh underneath. My brutal stepfather's minions was coming from the left. I could hear my evil betrothal's servants coming from the right. I was trapped!

Then two giant dodobirds appeared from nowhere! One took the horde on the left; the other went after the one on the right. It turned out, my saviors were the last two surviving dodobirds in the universe. They were females and knew they were the last of their kind. Because of my injuries--my poor bound feet were ripped to shreds--they took me to their dodonest, hidden among the deep thorny forest, and adopted me.

I found that dodobird saliva had special healing powers and I spent years soaking my three-inch deformed pancakes that I called feet in that special slimey juice. It smelled bad, but I got used to it. My dodobird mamas lovingly took care of me. When I was finally able to look at my feet again, lo and behold! Miracle of miracles, I had normal human feet!

To my sad horror, my dodobird mamas were disgusted at the sight because they'd thought they'd saved a dodobird, since dodobirds walked funny. Like the way I used to. But I no longer do. I walked and skipped like a normal human being and they were disgusted.

My heart broke when they cast me aside. I had to wander off alone. I hitched a ride on a rhinoceros out of the forest. After many years, I saved enough money to go to the United States to look for freedom because you know, everyone was free there. I paid off a pirate and he exported me as a cheap computer part. That was tough but not as bad as having bound feet.

Today, I can safely say I stand here strong and independent--the innovative owner of an import/export company of rare medicinal dodobird spit--and very proud of each and every one of my feat.

What? It's a tearjerker, come on! Surely Oprah would love it because it's a story about feminism and strong females against the world and winning. Come on! No cackling over there! I'm sitting here waiting for my six-figure advance.

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