When I woke up on Monday and read all the hoopla about Oprah’s possible run for president in 2020, I realized I had missed something. It was sort of like waking up with a hangover, half a mustache, and a lot of giggling friends pointing fingers at one another.
Oprah for president?
I have not allowed myself to read a lot about it. This is due to mixed emotions. I don’t know how I should feel about this, and yet I know exactly what I think about this. I don’t want to get my hopes up. And I got a bone to pick with Oprah.
I am guessing a lot of people said something similar to me, like “Uh…Oprah for president?” and then they thought “Man. Who’s next?” I don’t have any problem with the idea of President Oprah, but I am a little afraid of who will succeed her. Kanye in 2028? Seth Rogan in 2032? Adele in 2036?
Oprah wouldn’t be the first celebrity to win the presidency and neither is Trump for that matter. Reagan wasn’t either. If you pick through the dusty reams of history, you’ll find that a great deal of those elected president are so because of their celebrity and popularity.
The great pleasure from this possibility is imagining the looks on the faces of the Trumpsters. Here’s why: she’ll be doing what he did, she would ride a wave of already immense popularity, she wouldn’t play under the same rules as other politicians, and they know, back in the unused folds of their gray matter, that she could kick the living shit out of him with one hand tied behind her book club. And the thought of Trump getting his cocktail weenie handed to him by a black woman who is an avid reader is masturbation material. O yes.
There was certainly a hero’s journey element to the whole thing, isn’t there? In the darkest hour with seemingly no hope of redemption, enter hero in the form of a curvy black woman in a purple dress. Oprah. She smells of generosity and success and is carrying books. And this is why I’m afraid to get my hopes up. It’s too movie perfect. Just when the desperate legions of sane, downtrodden Americans can’t take another moment of the stable genius, in walks the hero to save the day. It’s too perfect.
Frankly, Oprah might be a perfect president. She has always struck me as an intelligent, compassionate woman with a great sense of humor. She isn’t a bully, she’s fair and has had to work her ass off to get what she has in life. What’s not to like? She’s a walking portrait of the American Dream. Donald Trump is a horrible president, but he’s not just a horrible president because he’s uninformed and incapable. He’s mostly a horrible president because he refuses to take responsibility for his actions, he’s the most hypocritical human on earth, and, to put it broadly and bluntly, he’s a fucking asshole.
Still, I have a bone to pick with Oprah and we’ll need to get that sorted out before I start waving any banners. See, my mom was an Oprah addict when I was younger. This meant that she was either in tears by the time we got home or under the influence of some Oprah theme of the day. These include how to know if your kids are doing drugs? Talk to your sons about autoerotic asphyxiation! And Signs that your child might be gay.
To be fair, my mom usually watched while in the middle of housework and would only catch snippets here and there. Chances are that she missed out on some of the more salient details, and I don’t suppose I can blame Oprah for that. So, with that said, Oprah 2020!
Stay tuned to this blog for my historic candidacy announcement for 2040…as log as I can get sabbatical.
