The Oprah Contest Is Over!

writing contest

So a few weeks ago I posted my very first writing contest. In 400 words or less, you were to describe exactly what you would say to Oprah if you were to meet up with her and I was looking for a humorous approach. Because I try to avoid long blog posts, I am going to post half today and half tomorrow. These are in no particular order and I invite you to tell me which is your favorite and why. Also, stop by their blogs and show them some lovin’! Great folks to follow! Enjoy!

What I would tell Oprah in 300 Words or Less

I’m Sick And So Are You

Hi, Oprah, so nice to meet you.

OPRAH! You’re Oprah! Well, of course you know you’re Oprah. I mean, you’re Oprah, you know everything.

Sorry, sorry, I’m a little nervous. I’m really a lot nervous. You’re Oprah. OPRAH!

I love that meme of you saying, “you get a car, you get a car, you get a car!” Have you seen the candle one? That’s a good one.

You get a candle, you get a candle, you get a candle!

You know, because when you run out of ideas for Christmas presents so you just get someone a candle from Marshall’s or something? I’m sure you don’t get your candles from Marshall’s. You’re Oprah. OPRAH!!

*clears throat*

Oprah. Yeah.

Ok. Yeah, why we’re here today. I write this blog. I’m not The Bloggess or anything. I hope to be, of course. Who doesn’t? She was on The New York Times Bestseller’s List twice. Or, was it three times? I know she wrote three books, but I’m not sure if she was on the list three times.

Awesomely Luvvie was on the Bestseller’s List, too. I also want to be like her.

I mean, I want to be like them, but be me, ya know? I’m unique. My mom told me so.

*nervous laughter*

Is it hot in here? Hehe.

Oh, right, right, back to why I’m here. I’m a blogger, ya know, like Luvvie and The Bloggess, but not. I’m special and unique. There’s nobody like me!

I have to confess, my mom never told me I was unique. She wasn’t that kind of mom. She wasn’t telling us we could do anything and stuff like that. She mostly just wanted us playing outside so she could get some peace and quiet. Who could blame her? There were six of us! The woman had six children!

Ok, ok, ok, yeah.

Why. We. Are. Here.

Ok. So, I have this blog. I mentioned that. Have I told you about the rare tumor yet? It’s like crazy rare.

Oh, I totally forgot to tell you! I found my grown daughter’s baby book the other day and in it I wrote that the theme song to your show was one of her favorite songs. Isn’t that random?

Oh. Ok. It was really nice to meet you too.

Just, out this door? Ok, thanks.

Do you validate parking?


Thanks. Bye.

Bye, Oprah!

The Phil Factor

The Meeting

This is the horror story scenario where everyone in the audience is yelling, “No! Don’t go in there!” As you sit in your comfy theater seat shoving buttery popcorn in your face, you know the dope on the screen is going in there no matter how obvious it is they’re about to be diced up like a julienne salad. Unfortunately, today I’m the dope on the screen, but I’m not in some cheesy teen slasher movie.

The invitation had come, as they usually do nowadays, by social media. At first, I thought it was a joke, but she persisted. I knew I was probably being catfished, but the possibility that is was real was just too much to resist, so I agreed to the meeting.

The whole set up seemed out of character and ripped off from an old movie. A dive bar down by the pier. Midnight she told me. Make sure you’re not followed. Come alone. Of course, it was a foggy night. Why wouldn’t it be? I was about to be murdered. The fog will set the mood just right for that, I thought. I slinked in through the side door and slipped through the shadows to the back table.

I couldn’t believe it. It really was her. She wore a long trench coat, a Humphrey Bogart hat and big fat fecking sunglasses to hide her face. Unbelieveable.

Oprah: So, this is going to go down just like I told you, right? You give me what I want, I give you what you want.

Phil: Umm…about that. After the whole “covfefe” thing I’m rethinking my request.

Oprah: What do you want? Isn’t having your books recommended by my book club enough? You’ll be as famous as Stephen King!

Phil: My books being popular won’t save the world. What I need you to do is to overthrow “you know who” and take his place. Think of it! You’ll be the most popular President ever! You can do no wrong!

Oprah: So, if I do this, if I become President, you’ll do what I want?

Phil: I’m a patriot. It’s for the good of the country. Just keep it to yourself. No tearful confession to Stedman. No “let it slip” after a few drinks with Gayle. This is just a transaction between you and me.

Oprah: You brought the condoms right?

Phil: Shit.

Em Inkles

“Oprah! My sweetheart. Please, sit down”.

She hovered in the door frame, chin raised and eyes darting around the room. I couldn’t blame Oprah for her uncertainty. The smell of burnt toast and fried mushrooms was making my own eyes sting.

Her fancy heels finally started to move towards me, and she gave me a tiny half-smile at exactly the same time as she effortlessly kicked aside a discarded string of bacon rind.

“It’s a strange place you wanted to meet me Em, I can’t even believe I agreed to this”, Oprah said, easing herself slowly on to the tattered stool. We were the only customers in the cafeteria. I had chosen it specifically. It had the worst Trip Advisor views in town.

“It’s fine O, no-one is gonna recognise you” I said. “You’re in England! Really, to us you’re just a chat show host from years back. Not even on a popular channel. In fact my mam only ever put you on the little telly in the dining room, never on the big…”

“OK!!” barked Oprah. “OK, like I need to take this from you”. She snarled and looked around again, but she didn’t move from her perch.

She was mine.

“I won’t keep you long O, half an hour will be more than enough.” I gave her a massive smile, not really caring if the chewy egg yolk I had just consumed was stuck in my teeth or not. “The Skype sessions explained everything and I emailed you the documents yesterday”.

“And the back-up faxes?” Oprah asked, whilst poking the sugar cubes around the bowl with a straw.

For fuck’s sake, who still uses a fax machine?

“I’ll get that sorted for you O. Anything for you.” I grinned again.

Oprah started fumbling around her waist area, and I got a glimpse of a neon pink bum bag (although she would know it as a fanny pack) beneath her designer suit jacket. She tapped my knee beneath the table, and slipped a white envelope on to my lap.

I did the same, my envelope to her passing underneath us, and it went into her fanny pack faster than lightning.

“You got a bargain there, O” I said. But she was already nearly out of the door.

She turned back.

“Faxes, Em. Don’t forget”.

That was the last time I saw Oprah.

And my holographic Pokemon card.

My Son’s Entry (he obviously can’t win the gift card but he thought he would try :))

Not knowing exactly who this people pleasing lady is as she isn’t, “from my generation”. But after extensive research and countless youtube videos and articles from before I was born I’ve come up with something I’d say.

I would like to take YOU Oprah Winfrey to my middle school! When you arrive Oprah I’d like to take you through my non-air conditioned school. The food choice isn’t great either. Maybe if we could pass a levy for once, we could upgrade from the county jail cuisine that the lunch ladies whip up in their queasy bake oven, to max prison food and actually know what we’re eating. But we can’t pass a levy because of the people who are empty shells inside and don’t have kids, or are really old men and walk their cat…like my neighbor.


Anyway, first stop is any teacher you’d like, they’re all the same, not nice enough for elementary and too dumb for high school. Here we are the grand part of middle school Oprah: the hallways. In this tour I’ve had to repeatedly remind Oprah that she can’t give away cars to middle schoolers. Back to the hallways. I think the reason that elementary kids aren’t in middle school is not because they’re not smart enough (heck I know first graders smarter than some of my friends) it’s simply because of the excessive cursing/swearing that exits the average 8th grader’s mouth. Thank you Oprah as this has been a great experience. I left that message on voicemail at the Center for Disease Control as Oprah was rushed there after eating from the queasy bake oven.

So there is the first group of contestants. What do you think folks?


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