Oprah's Fans II: The Revenge.

"At one point they were the most feared women in society. They would indiscriminately fall upon villages, devouring the inhabitants and ripping the infants limb from limb. It was a ghastly spectacle, and in 234AD it was the subject of an imperial decree. The madness had to stop"
"Wait," I interrupted. He had accelerated from introduction to screed with worrying swiftness, and there was something I wanted to know: "How did you get my name?" I asked, slightly timidly; this was getting a little weird.
"Well, only one man has ever e-mailed Oprah, only 3 have phoned her hotline, and two of them wanted pizza. We kind of put two and two together."
"OK, thanks" I said, not entirely convinced. The man had power, even if he momentarily seemed interested only in using his gateway into my life to bore me to death.
"In 236AD," He continued, "The work was completed, and the cults would never be heard from again. But that wasn't the end."
"Let me guess," I had read the Da Vinci Code; I could see where this was going. "The cults went underground, only to resurface in modern day America, with Oprah at the helm"
"That's a good guess" He said "In fact, the boys and I were considering making that the story, but the truth is different. When Oprah was only 14 years old she had, due to her excessive weight and lack of social skills, a lot of time for reading. It was in an illustrated volume of ancient Greek customs that she came upon the cults. She wanted that kind of power for herself. While munching on some hotwings, she came up with a plan. It was simple but brilliant; all she had to do was…"
His voice trailed off, and my mother's face filled my vision. Her hand was on the cradle of the phone. She'd cut me off. Later I would reflect on her status as a current member of the Oprah fan club. Was she carrying out orders? At the time though I apologised and sat down to a delicious meal of roast beef.

It was 3 weeks later. I had phoned the hotline many times, on each occasion mashing the buttons and screaming powerlessly at Oprah's disembodied voice. I had not reached the mysterious man again. I had found a number of books on the ancient mystery cults of ancient Greece, including one illustrated volume which I took to be the one Oprah had read on that fateful day. I stared at it for hours at a time, trying to put myself into Oprah's corpulent 14 year old head. It was horrible.
I had taken to watching Oprah every day. At first it was simply to find out more. Was Dr. Phil her lieutenant? Did the book club have some kind of sinister indoctrinating purpose? I then began to watch because I wanted to. New questions presented themselves. Could my flat use a makeover? I would scan the empty kitchen and overflowing ashtrays and conclude that, yes, it could use a little sprucing. Was I saying no to love? The almost palpable lack of female presence in my life said yes. Could Oprah help me? I hoped so, God knows I needed it. I'd wake up at awkward hours of the night, my well thumbed copy of "Chicken Soup for Your Inner Child" clutched in my sweaty hand, worrying vaguely about the menopause. Then the phone rang.
"Mr. James?"
"How did you find me?" I had recognised the voice immediately.
"The purchase of 'Chicken Soup for Your Inner Child' at the same time as 'Heiress: The Paris Hilton Story' is almost unheard-of. It was either you or a very unbutch lesbian. It was you."
I looked guiltily at my Paris biography. I had only wanted to find out her rags-to-riches story. I had been sorely disappointed.
"You have to stop watching Oprah."
"But I don't want to. Tomorrow she meets Robin Williams; the comedy is bound to come thick and fast."
"Listen to yourself, man!"
I did, and I realised I was wrong. So very wrong. Robin Williams wasn't funny. He was hairy, but that hardly equated to the same thing.
"Oh God, you're right. How has she done this to me? Many have tried: Ricki, Jerry, even Phil himself. What makes Oprah so powerful?"
He took a deep breath. "At first, like her 2000 year old predecessors Oprah used drugs. But there was only so far she could go. She wanted to spread the righteous sisterhood worldwide. Even with Dr. Phil's help she could only drug the Southern states. Desperate, she and Phil set up a research lab deep in the substrata below Harpo productions. They developed subliminal messages so powerful they can affect the body's oestrogen levels.
I saw it all now. The cleaning, the cooking, the vestigial breasts and terror of the menopause had all been side-effects of an excess of the female hormone in my bloodstream. Oprah had got to me, but no longer. I thanked him and hung up. He had explained everything. I had discovered Oprah's filthy little secret, and exposed the truth behind her frenzied fans. I would never watch Oprah again.
I have been clean for two months, but even now I find myself cleaning sometimes, or even eyeing the Mind Body and Spirit section at my local Waterstone's. At these times I smile a little. Oprah had got me, but I'd exposed her in the end. During the course of my research I had discovered that if Oprah had retained the cumulative weight she's lost through decades of yo-yo dieting, she would be the size of an angry bull elephant. This fact made my victory seem sweeter still.