Prologue - The authors of this book
were two National Enquirer reporters. On finishing this
paperbacknovel, I figured I’d never need it again, nor recommend
it to anyone. So in an act of extreme disdain for a book-loving
reader like me, when I finished this book, I tossed it onto the
recycle pile. When I went to try to find the authors’ names on
Amazon, this particular title, Rosie Oh! could not be found
among several other Rosie books I surely won’t be reading. It’s
not that this particular book was so revealing of Rosie, but
maybe she bought up every copy, and I casually tossed a copy of
a book now out of circulation. Surely some idolatrous Rosie fan
would’ve offered $omething for even an unflattering book. I have
I owed the Jersey City Public Library nearly $12 for overdue
books and didn't have it handy. I couldn't borrow books, and
instead in an act of masochism on par with self-immolation,
flipped through a laying-around 2003 copy of an "unauthorized"
paperback bio of one of show business's most obnoxious
loudmouths, "Rosie" O'Donnell. She's in the news lately as one
of the bathead dames on Barbara Walters' torturously "profound"
girlie-girlie soiree, "The View." And here's Rosie Oh having a
"feud" with another celebrity bombast, the Donald Trump.
(see "on language"). Rosie's an admitted stone dyke lesbo, and
more open about it than, say, Ofrah, who teases her own
idolatrous audience about how she gets her naked jollies.
Everyone knows Ofrah gets hers via intra-broad frolics, but it's
not polite to say or speculate unless Offie decides there's a
buck in it and out she'll fly forth. Ofrah is probably the most
successful girlie-girl in the long history of broads, but she
probably thinks she's already hurdled one hurdle being a
successful "black" woman -- why tempt fate by adding the "lesbo"
label? And what a carpet-munch bed-shattering pairing that would
be: Ofrah and Rosie? Who says it hasn't happened? Rosie did
Madonna, and Ofrah is an equally annoying gigantic celebrity.
Ms. O'Donnell made her show-biz bones on the stand-up circuit,
in precisely the wisenheimer know-it-all smarmy persona which
she maintains to this day. Today she pontificates unknowingly on
everything from the War in Iraq, to global warming, to gun
control, and the state of tormented closeted dykes everywhere.
Rosie's a glib cad -- the dame equivalent of another annoying
stand-up celeb who thinks making people laugh and having an
"issues-oriented" TV show qualifies him as a deep-thinker: Bill
Maher. Rosie's predictable and tired trendy-left bleats
electrify her otherwise brain-dead admirers, who think she's a
policy figure on par with Hillary Clinton. And that ain't saying
much for Hillary because Rosie's policy notions are Hillary's
A determined and ambitious lass who
carried emotional baggage from the age of ten when her mother
died, Rosie parlayed her stand-up shtick into that mother-of-all
emblems of success: a self-named daytime talk show. And so began
Rosie's own initial Ofrah imitation: should she risk her middle
of the road audience by admitting she likes to give un-medical
pelvic exams on her gender equals? No, principle would wait
until Rosie had enough stashed cash to insulate herself from the
fallout of any principle stand. Nonetheless, even before she
came out as the cow-romping dyke she is, just as with Ofrah,
everyone "knew." Once she decided to officially publicize her
intra-gender bedroom follies, Rosie became ever more obnoxious.
Formerly known as the "Queen of Nice," the new Rosie, perhaps
now the king of arrogance, perfectly fulfilled the stereotype of
a mannish dyke. It ain't a pretty picture any way you “view” it.
And now we don’t have to since she’s off that torturous damefest.
Rosie has girlfriends, and then they break up, get back
together, and break up some more. She's presently "married" to
some cropped-chin-n-hair broad. Rosie has money fights with
broads, as if these broads are in it for Rosie. Rosie adopts a
bunch of kids; she's a pioneer in the new paradigm of instant
celebrity mommy and daddy-hood without the travails of
child-birth. Rosie decides she wants to do the full multi-media
Ofrah and agrees to have McCall's renamed for her. Ever the
know-it-all, she fails to know magazines and the venture blows
up in lawsuits. As the book closes, Rosie is content to raise
her bratty brood in alternative-lifestyle-bliss, lying in wait
for her next opportunity to offend. The authors, a couple of
former National Enquirer reporters, promise exclamation-point
revelations. It's overall humdrum stuff about a fat, troubled,
annoying, wise-cracking lesbian made good. Rosie herself gave
interviews with the Enquirer likely in the vain belief that she
might at least influence their coverage; no one cares.
She's back now, of course, Rosie's
rotund-ness a bovine presence on Barbara Walters' View show. A
perfect fit, really, for Rosie, as audience broads eat her line
of uncritical thinking up and worship her in Ofrah-esque fealty.
Rosie picks fights, backtracks, utters off-the-cuff stupidities.
She has the “Oh that’s Rosie being Rosie” immunity grant from
her man-repelling audience. Dumb dame audiences love her
anti-man demeanor enough to make her rich several times over.
Overweight, annoying, lesbianistic, all-knowing, unattractive,
and allergic to man-meat. Yep: Rosie Oh is the perfect role
model for dames everywhere, including most especially the
Epilogue – Rosie quit The View, and was briefly considered to be
a replacement candidate for Bob Barker on The Price is Right
game show. However hokey The Price is Right is, it’s a
mainstream show to the extent that Rosie’s smart-mouth dyke
shtick wasn’t going to fly there. Thus as of press time, Rosie
Oh! is Rosie No on the gig front. Rest assured, celebrity
masochists, a beast like Rosie will be back.
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