Tag: satire

When Harry Met Oprah

These days, it’s much easier to bury Caesar than to praise him, and even though I like to think I’m a better person than that – I’m not.  Given the opportunity, I’m right in there, shovelling the dirt with everybody else.  So it was with a little bit too much glee that I noticed there’s going to be A Royal Event on March 7th.  Buckle up, boys and girls, because the Queen of Jell-o Journalism, Oprah Winfrey, has granted an audience to the Queen of Southern California, Meghan Markle.  Not since Henry VIII of England met Francis I of France on the Field of The Cloth of Gold in June 1520 has there been this much Royal star power in one place at one time.  In fact, there’s a danger that the San Andreas Fault may buckle under the weight of their combined egos.  But, what an occasion!  In a more civilized time, there’d be jousting and jugglers, puppet shows and magicians, minstrels and at least a dozen suckling pigs.  Unfortunately, the 21st century is a dark, joyless age, so, we’ll have to settle for two women talking (more about that later.)  However, I do not exaggerate when I speculate that over a billion people will tune into this regal — uh – conversation.

Wow!  This is a match made in celebrity heaven.  Meghan Markle, former suitcase girl on Howie Mandel’s Deal or No Deal, gets to sit on the same sofa that Tom Cruise bounced up and down on.  And even though, before May 19, 2018 Winfrey wouldn’t have given Markle, the second banana on a 3rd rate TV show, the time of day (never mind a spot on the vaunted Oprah sofa) Meghan’s the one who’s going to help Ms. Winfrey kick that little upstart Ellen off the top of the TV ratings pyramid.

Of course, the actual television show won’t be anything special.  The two women will trot out the usual suspects — how difficult it is to be filthy rich, how the media (present company excluded) are a bunch of dicks, how the Royal Family were unreasonable and why — as a mother — Markle just wants to give her children a normal life.  (On that last point, when you can rent Disneyland for your kid’s birthday party, that “normal” ship has kinda sailed.)  Anyway, Winfrey will call Markle “brave” a couple of times, she’ll share a cute anecdote from the wedding and maybe squeeze out a tear or two.  Then, they’ll take a break … “And when we come back, Prince Harry will join the conversation.”  WHAT?  That’s right!  For the first half of the program, Harry isn’t even going to be there!  He’s going to be cooling his heels, nice boy, in the Green Room.  Frankly, I’m not surprised.  After all, it would be totally out of character for Meghan Markle to share the spotlight of her magical moment on Oprah with anybody else – including the guy who got her there.

In the end, they’ll all agree that, despite the horribly hard row Mr. And Mrs. Mountbatten-Windsor have had to hoe, they are just an ordinary couple who want to shun the public eye (Yeah!  That’s why you’re on Oprah!) and have a normal life.  Oprah will give everybody in the studio audience a diamond tiara.  “You get a tiara!  You get a tiara!  You get a tiara!  Everybody gets a tiara!”  Both brands, Harpo and Archewell, will get a kick up the Social Media ladder; both PR entourages will do some high fives; and everyone will go home happy with a job well done.   

Meanwhile, however, in a dark corner of the cutthroat world of Daytime TV, Ellen, the nastiest sycophant on the planet, will be beating the bejesus out of her producers, screaming “What the hell am I paying you for?  Those two cash cows should have been mine!”

Gender Vacations?

I’ve said it a million times: “I’m so pissed that I’m never going to view my own time as history!”  I’m getting close — after all, the moon landing was 50 years ago — but naaaah! — it’s not quite the same.  History is what you don’t remember.  Anyway…  Of course, the other side of that coin is I’m not going to be around for all the cool future stuff either, and that pisses me off even more.  Imagine! – 3D social media, teleportation, interspecies communication?  Too cool!  But the coolest thing about the future is there’s going to be – Gender Vacations.  Yeah, it’s gonna happen!  Trust me, some enterprising young person is going to figure out how to do it, and they are going to be richer than Bezos because there isn’t a single person on this planet who wouldn’t pay huge coin to take one. 

Think about it!

Hey, girls!  Tired of doing 4 jobs every day — underpaid employee, wife, mother, self-appointed care giver?  Why not take some time off?  Why not get away from it all with a two-week vacation – as a man?  That’s right!  For two weeks, forget about the long lines at public toilets: there won’t be any.  Put away your punitive underwear, and just pick a side.  Scratch whatever you want, whenever you want!  Feels good, doesn’t it?  Isn’t it time you pampered yourself and had somebody else make the sandwich after sex?  Plus, for two weeks, you can be as assertive as you like — disagree and even argue if you want to — with no social ramifications.  You’ll be able to go to a bar and have a nice, quiet drink without a parade of losers hitting on you.  Waste an afternoon on the sofa, watching a ballgame with your hand down your pants.  Even go out on a date with a quick shower and a comb through your hair — because as a man you’re not a wrinkled crone – you’re rugged!  You know you’re curious.  Why not make the call?

Hey, guys!  Tired of getting blamed for everything that’s wrong with the world, tired of walking the tightrope between macho and wimp every day, tired of half the world looking at you as if you were an apprentice stalker?  You don’t need this stress.  Time to take some me time with a two-week vacation – as a woman.  Throw away that wooden suit you’ve been wearing, add some style and let somebody else open doors, for a change.  Discover how an adjustable neckline can get those grunt jobs at work done — without lifting a finger.  At home, harness the awesome power of “Yes, dear!” to hang a picture, wash the car, rearrange the furniture and so much more.  You’ll be able to tell jokes again, say hi to children and even give people compliments – all without fear of somebody freaking out and calling you a pervert.  And speaking of freaking out?  Go ahead! – anytime you like.  You won’t be held responsible.  Remember, you’ve got hormones now, and they’re always to blame.  So, maybe it’s time you stopped twisting yourself in knots trying to figure out what women want and try being one for a couple of weeks.  You’ll be glad you did!

Operators are standing by!

January — The Lonely Month

doll-1076186_1920

I feel totally sorry for January: it’s got to be the loneliest month on the calendar.  All the other months have something going on.  Think about it!  March has Spring and sometimes even Easter; September has back to school; October has Hallowe’en; even dreary old November has Remembrance Day.  Sad but true.  Unfortunately, January has nothing.  Okay, it got a little exciting a couple of days ago when Trump got pissed and blew up a general nobody ever heard of until he came apart at the seams (Too soon?  Probably not.) but normally, January has to act like it’s overjoyed to be forever known as “The Month after Christmas.”  That’s like being Santa Claus’ little sister.  Not a lot of career opportunities and you can pretty much forget about a date for the Prom.

“Hey, I’m going to ask Susan Claus to the Prom.”
“No way, man!  You don’t want go there.  That’s Santa’s sister.  Mess that one up and you’ll be on the Naughty List for the rest of your life.”

So what have we got to look forward to in January?  Elvis’ birthday on January 8th (we missed it — again) Dress-up Your Pet Day on January 14th (that’s just morally wrong) and Burns’ Night on January 25th (celebrating a poet whose works have never been translated into English.)  And it gets even worse — January is Thyroid Awareness Month.  Now, doesn’t that sound like a party?

Thyroid Thursdays
Dance to the music of Nelly and the Neck Throbs
Two for one shots of Iodine
BYOL (Bring your own levothyroxine)

Whoa!  Party on, dude!

And speaking of parties, for the last couple of years, the Brits have tried to dress up the month with Dry January.  That’s right.  Some button- down civil servant from Whitehall decided that NOT going to the Pub all month would be a great way to take the sting out of Brexit.  Yeah, right!  Stay home and watch BBC News: that’ll put you in a good mood!

Plus, and this is the football boot to the goolies, January is the month when all those punitive New Year’s Resolutions kick in.  The people who ODed on chocolate over Christmas are starving themselves on carrots and kale.  The Quit Smoking crowd are one Marlboro away from killing somebody.  And the Get Fit folks are spending half their day sweaty and the other half sore.  Meanwhile, the weather sucks and the credit card bills from Christmas have arrived.  It’s no wonder everybody’s miserable.

The thing is, though, it’s not January’s fault.  It just happens to be stuck between the adrenaline surge of Christmas and the hormone rush of Valentine’s Day, and nobody’s going to look good with those two hogging the spotlight.

So good luck, January, you poor, pathetic, little beast!  You have my sympathy, but honestly, I’ll be glad when you’re gone.