Enough, Already with Oprah's All-Female-Suffering Runup To Precious's Debut
By now, you've likely heard the incredibly gross news about what Mackenzie Phillips's "BOMBSHELL SECRET," as it's been teased for a week, will be when she detonates this atomic taboo bomb on The Oprah Winfrey Show later today. But before we do a swan dive into that muck, I'd like to back up a bit. I did something recently that I'd never done before: I added Oprah to my DVR queue. Her two-part season opener interview with Whitney Houston wasn't a letdown. On the contrary, it was something of a triumph for Winfrey, who'd gotten her elusive subject to snap back from the cracky abyss and reflect on the circumstances that led to her flash-and-burn marriage and astonishing fall from grace.
They explored the functional details, too. Her drug was cocaine -- premium rock cocaine, sprinkled like icing sugar in marijuana cigarettes and puffed while watching TV, sometimes days at a time, sitting wordlessly on the couch by Bobby Brown. I, however, needed no blow-joints to enjoy this show: I was high merely on the intrusion.
Yesterday's show featured two female guests, linked only by their Ripley's Believe It or Not!ness: Connie Culp, a woman who was shot in the face by her husband and survived (he turned the gun on himself and also survived), and who lived for some time with a sutured hole where her nose and palate once existed, giving her face the appearance of a bialy. However Culp became the lucky recipient of North America's first successful face transplant. Pragmatic, resilient, courageous -- she's all those things. But then she vacillates on whether or not she'd take back her husband after he's released from his seven-year prison stint, and you realize just where this woman's new head is at. You've heard of turning the other cheek; Connie takes it to its literal extremes.
The second guest was Shiloh Pepin, the girl made famous in a TLC documentary who has two fused legs that sort of form a single, tapering flesh-flipper below her waist, giving her the appearance of a mermaid. The condition is one from which she was thought never to survive past infancy, but Shiloh turned ten this summer, and like Connie, she too seems completely disinterested with matters of self-pity. Shiloh is instead preoccupied with tormenting her doctors with syringe water guns, plotting out her career as a jewelry designer, and leaving the bulk of the worrying over her quality of life to her parents -- who are divorcing, she let slip.
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