Ya’ll know I got nothing against a strong, independent woman. Far as I’m concerned, a woman can swing a dick just as good as a man, and she won’t waste time playing around with it neither.
But Oprah Winfrey is getting on my last motherfucking nerve.
Anyone who lets Tom Cruise put his shoes on your furniture ain’t got no business telling America who to vote for. Tom Cruise comes into my home and gets his nasty-ass Bruno Magli’s all over my nice Queen Anne sofa, you best believe I’m knocking his ass out before he can start freaking out my cat. And he’s getting a cleaning bill from me too.
Hey, I like the bitch. I’d give her a foot massage if she kept her socks on. But she delivered a stump speech called Dream America Anew Again, which is about the most fucked-up disingenuous title I’ve ever heard, and I was in a movie called Snakes on a Plane.
This Obama bullshit is just the last motherfucking straw. Does she realize she’s a talk-show host and not some got-damn self-anointed kingmaker running around the country selling politics like it was a self-help book? You can’t spend all day telling shut-ins and housewives about The Secret, and all night telling them why they got to depend on one man to save their sorry asses.
Yeah, Oprah, if we put Barack’s skinny ass in the White House, you gonna give us all some expensive gifts we can’t pay the taxes on? Bitch, you’re from the hood–you know rhetoric ain’t gonna feed no family of five.
And another thing: the last time you got all hot and shit for a man, we ended up with omni-fucking-present Dr. Phil. That don’t instill a large amount of confidence in your taste in men. Between that Steadman motherfucker and Dr. Phil, I ain’t too sure we should listen to you when it comes to Obama.