Pork Freyed James

Okay, I was wrong. The James Frey story still has legs…apparently very long ones. Oprah, who had publicly maintained her support for Frey, hosted the memoirist cum novelist on her show today along with publisher Nan Talese. I haven’t seen the episode, but reports are the Ms. O was quite forthcoming about being none-too-pleased. I think the logical conclusion to this whole ordeal would be a new book by James Frey. Oprah, I have three heartfelt, if trite words for you: You go, girl! And Jimmy, if you’re looking around, feel free to steal this intro:

I am a liar…a dirty liar.
In fact, I am lying right now…lying in a pool of my own vomit.
It’s time to cut the bullshit; it’s time to throw down. This I know. The people around me are reading Dave Eggers’s newest book. Assholes. I pull my Pulitzer prize down from the shelf in front of me. I stand up so I can reach it. There are UFOs and Bigfoots (Bigfeet?) everywhere. The aliens want to fight me and I punch one in what I think is his face, and he spits blood on me. Even on Planet Arnoamsnqa, I am the baddest man alive. This is nothing compared to the two hours I spent in the pen until my mom and dad picked me up. The four signs have aligned themselves behind me and I can see my own reflection in my puke. I accept myself, bearded and beautiful. Thus begins my redemption.

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