Associated Press

You are one silly little white girl, Nanny Pants. I take one look at your mousy-ass face and I must warn myself, “Be merciful, Oprah. Stay thy recently manicured hand.”

But then Stedman brings it up when I take him outside for his daily walk (“Steddy Bear, what did Momma O say about peeing in my bushes? Come on over here and do your business in the Spielberg’s yard like I taught you.”) and my belly burns with flames of righteous indignation. It tickles and I smile . . .

You know what – that slow sizzle might actually be the four bags of chili con carne corn chips I just ate.

Oh Nanners, I want to turn my Majestic Cheek, I really do. But you talked shit about me – ON TELEVISION. What in the name of Oprah’s Sweet Salvation were you thinking when you tried to challenge She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named on her Chosen Media ‘O’utlet?! It makes Her most displeased.

So here’s the deal: If one more blasphemous word comes out of your tight-lipped, anally-shaped heresy hole, I will smite you down with the force of a thousand suns. That’s right, I own a thousand suns. They’re all stacked up in my backyard right now.

Maybe you and that crackhead Frey boy have never heard of The Truth, since you are so busy packaging lies that tarnish the Gleaming Throne of Oprah’s Book Club. Therefore, I shalt lay it down for y’all real quick:

1. Oprah is The Honey-Tongued Messenger of All That Is Factual and Consumer-Friendly.
2. Refer to #1.
3. Nan Talese is a chicken-headed ho’ biscuit.