Oprah Winfrey's Pretensions

You can tell everything about a woman by the fact that she likes Oprah Winfrey. Oprah with her extensions. Here is your American dream, parlaying fortune out of what? Talent? Brains? Hell, no. I remember seeing a commercial for Oprah back in the early days of the book club. She was touting Bridges of Madison County. This was long before she claimed to get into Toni Morrison. She was acting as if every word would give her audience an orgasm, as this was the most profound piece of American literature since Faulkner (Winfrey is the kind of person who would claim to read Faulkner, probably has, in fact) but not be able to identify a single storyline if you asked them. Much like the DaVinci Code, the novel turned out to be something that felt like it was written by a very average 12 year-old. It had a hook that appealed to over-ripe 40 something airheads, but it was so bad it couldn't even be termed literature, let alone bad literature. Ms Winfrey, it turns out, is very much like your average American reader, dull, dull-witted and incapable of grasping subtlety. So I know that she doesn't like Toni Morrison, or Jonathan Franzen or any of the writers above Danielle Steele level whose work she claims to have enjoyed.

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Pederast in the Supermarket

He saw the bastard in the grocery store two miles from his house. He looked like the kind of man who would enjoy dressing up like a woman. Not that there was anything feminine about him exactly, he just looked like he could have that kind of delusion. Maybe it was the long eyelashes that gave this impression. Peter Dane did not recognize him right away, just saw him and had that feeling he got when he was looking at a fellow Jamaican. When he tried to write what it was in the appearance that set Jamaicans apart from other islanders or black Americans it would not come, but it was something specific and real since he was almost always right. The man in the grocery store had been a rapist, a pederast to be specific. One with very powerful political contacts back on the island. He had disappeared before his trial for the rape and attempted murder named Clarence Withmore.

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Fiction for Dummies

So you know that most fiction is written for morons, for dumabasses with trite imaginations, able to grasp only the most tedious and familiar of concepts. Fucking Jackie Collins was not writing for people who have rich imaginations.

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