Letter sent to Dr. Phil today at 5:00 PM - I will update you on any reply. (Still no reply from Oprah.)
Dearest Dr. McGraw,
I have recently had the pleasure of corresponding with a dear friend and former confidant of yours, Dr. Oprah. Unfortunately, our correspondence was very brief and very inequitable in that she has been too busy to respond to my letter. I understand that she is a hopelessly important individual with a girls camp in Africa to run and a few favorite things to pick out. I hope, however, that you will take me into your loving arms and hold me close; metaphorically of course.
Dr. Phil, I have but one request of you: Ask Oprah to read my letter. The letter is regarding a book that I will be publishing in the near to distant future. I would like to be a member of her fastidious book club and I think, no I know, that this yet to be written book about a yet to be determined subject or person, or talking animal, or killer robot would be the perfect addition to the gold lined walls of her club.
I know what you are thinking Doc; how does talking to Oprah about this benefit me? It's simple. I will devote an entire chapter of the book to you. In this chapter I will take a deeper look into your family life and your relationship with your wife. If that is too personal, I will naturally name a killer robot after you. Because the book has yet to be written, there are an assortment of different directions that we could take your character. If you chose to decline, I will have to present this offer to another close friend and fitness guru, Richard Simmons. He might not fit the killer robot stereotype, but he would make a perfect talking animal, specifically a gay penguin.
Your show, Doctor Phil, is a gift to the American public. Your show on husbands that verbally abuse their fat wives had me weeping. How could that man ever say that his wife was "too fat for affection"? 400 pounds is not too fat for affection, you just have to hug a little piece at a time. And how about that recent show on the "Cougar Craze"? It is about time that someone approached the subject of fifty something women on the prowl, looking for a younger man. What is wrong with America?
The way I see it, you are an American hero. Just look what you did for Ms. Spears! She is almost 100% normal now because of you. She might as well move into a suburban neighborhood, buy a minivan and watch your show all day because, by-golly she is just a plain old American woman now. She can give all the credit to you. You have a heart of gold Phil, a heart of gold.
Rescue me Phil! Rescue me like you rescued Brittany! All I am asking for is a simple 30 second chat with the Big O. (Oprah, not the tire place.) I am a needy man Phil. I have all the classic symptoms of a guest on your show: I am drowning in my own self pity, my male ego is out of control, I have a sister-in-law from hell*, I was banned from my own brothers wedding**, gorgeous just isn't enough for me, I was a Scott Peterson juror, and I am an ghastly, overbearing stage parent. I am not asking you to fix all of these personal flaws, I am simply asking you to talk to Oprah.
My friends have also told me that it might be beneficial to mention that I am a male, First Grade teacher. Did I mention that? I am a male, First Grade teacher and I make minimum wage. I do it because the kids in my class are missing arms and legs and even backbones. I teach for kids like little Benny. Benny was born without the ability to grow finger or toenails. He comes to school with fakes, only to be teased and ridiculed until he leaves each day drenched in his own tears. (He also has a tear gland problem.) I teach because of girls like tiny Barbara. TB (Tiny Barbara), as we call her, has TB. I am not sure if she got the nickname or the disease first, but she is sure a cute, sick kid.
Living on minimum wage is tough, but I also work nine other jobs to help support my family. The worst job I currently work is on Sunday nights. I watch the rabid dogs at the Humane Society that are on death row. It is tough to look into their soft, sad eyes as when they realize that their time is soon up. Fortunately, their rabid slobber and fierce red eyes quickly bring me back to earth and I realize that it must be done. When will they ever find a cure?
Last week my sons ate only cornmeal and a sampling of food from the local Costco. It is nice when they have the fish samples, because at least they can get their Omega 3 vitamins for the week. The old ladies that cut the food up with scissors are sure nice to my boys. Sometimes, when we are lucky, it is a holiday week and we go get free hotdogs at a local furniture retailer. Unfortunately, it seems that in our me first society, holidays are coming around less and less often. I mean, the last holiday was what, Memorial Day? We as a society should be ashamed.
Phil, I live a tough life. You wouldn't believe the diarrhea you get from eating only cornmeal all week! It gets so bad that I am forced to put sponges in my undershorts. As you might have guessed, walking with spongy undershorts is a little difficult. But try and walking with wet sponges in your undershorts! Maybe then will you begin to understand the depth of my problems.
Doctor, please do not feel sorry for me or send money. (Well, you can send money, but make sure it is in unmarked $20.00 bills. I am not sure why they need to be unmarked, but that is one thing I have learned from movies. I don't want your sympathy cash but I will take your compassion cash. Just make sure they are in twenties, unmarked of course.) I simply would like you to have a brief conversation with Oprah. Tell her it is about Abe's book. She'll know what that means.
* Added for effect. All of my sister in laws are beyond great.
** Again, for effect. I planned to get kicked out of my brother's wedding, but thought better of it.