Possibly Scarier Than George Bush

Oprah Winfrey scares me. She does lots of good shit and all, but the last time I watched her show (against my will, and only because my guru, Jon Stewart was her guest), I took a good look at her as she basked in the glow of her audience members spontaneously combusting with the excitement of being in her presence, and she had the look of a woman who might secretly have genuine designs on taking over the world.

Her most recent conquest is Hermès, as you’ve unavoidably heard, if you’ve walked within thirty yards of a television set in the last couple of months, and if you want some snarkoriffic reporting on her making Hermès USA’s CEO beg for his life on her internationally televised show, head on over to TBogg’s arcade or Tart’s own pool hall.

Anyhoo, that’s not what’s got me scared (or more scared than usual). What really chills me to my bones is the report in Salon’s The Fix that Tom “Crazier Than a Shithouse Rat But Definitely Not Medicated For It” Cruise is trying to convert Oprah to Scientology, and has gone so far as to move in next door to her to win her affections on behalf of the overlord Xenu. All I can do is pray to my made-up galactic ruler, Kerbibblywinks, that Cruise doesn’t manage to weave the same zombifying spell over Oprah that he has over Katie Holmes. (Or, a better spell, I guess, since a billionaire probably can’t be quite as easily bought with shiny objects as can a half-starved ingénue as desperate for distance from a WB teen melodrama as she is for a snack.) In any case, I hope that Oprah resists, because I fear that the result of Oprah high on Scientology and shilling for the Hubnuts to millions of women nationwide may be even worse than anything Bush can do in his remaining three years as he stumbles toward his finish line.

If even half as many women tried to sell me on Scientology as tried to shove one of Oprah’s Book Club picks down my piehole, I’m telling you—this will be one miserable country.