Yesterday I read that Oprah Winfrey will soon share the cover of her official magazine with another person other than herself for the first time. Said other person turns out to be Michelle LaVaughn Robinson Obama, current First Lady of the United States and amateur bodybuilder. Needless to say, I found the news a little unsettling. It was kind of like a homeless man wandering into the restaurant during your wife’s birthday dinner and taking a crapper all over the cake while humming “Yankee Doodle.” And it’s not even because of the obvious stuff, I swear. Sure, they’re both as stuck-up as a Viagra test patient and they dress like they were both in a freak accident involving nuclear waste, an explosion and a Coldwater Creek clothing store. But my real issue? What really keeps me up at night, popping valiums one after the other and making VHS recordings of infomercials for later viewing? They’re so damn ugly, the two of them. Oprah was pretty terrible by herself - she looks a little bit like Admiral Ackbar, if you ask me - but then you add in Nazi Superwoman Michelle Obama and you’ve got yourself a USDA-certified two-lady lifetime membership to Club Ugly. (No offense, of course, to the proud men and women who serve America by certifying that our beef is indeed mostly beef, rather than a composite of beef, cardboard and aluminum siding like they sell in Cambodia. I’m not honestly trying to say that you guys are some kind of certification board that oversees this “Club Ugly” that I devised for Admiral Oprah and her Herculean companion... Sometimes I just get really flustered when I’m typing quickly and I write strange things that don’t make any logical sense in the real world. Like that stuff about warm soymilk fights. That’s crazy. Warm soymilk is best for diving and swimming; pie, as I’m sure you well know, suits fighting much better.) If the world survives those two on a magazine cover together without resorting to nuclear war or a mass conversion to Mormonism, you can count me among the officially surprised.
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