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The Exorcism of Oprah WinfreyThis story may contain adult content. |
| Written by Max Booth III | |
| Tuesday, 01 July 2008 | |
 I hear her voice call out my name and I sigh. This is it. My time to shine. It took over ten years to get where I am, and I better not blow it. Failure is not an option. I check my pockets to make sure I have all of the supplies. It was nearly impossible smuggling the stuff in, but I managed to pull it off. I then head out onto the stage where the ***** awaits on her orange leather chair. Soon that smile will be wiped from her demonic face. Okay, now don't blow this. This is your only chance. Your last chance. The crowd is applauding as I wave my hand over my head. Yeah, yeah, I think to myself. Just wait until you see who your idol really is. Just wait and see. "Have a seat," she tells me. Yeah, no ****. I'm just gonna stand here all day, right? I sit down in the orange chair opposite of Oprah and manage a fake smile. "So," she says, "it is an absolute honor to have you as a guest on my show." "As it is an honor to be a guest," I say. And it'll be an honor sending you back to Hell. I look at the coffee table in front of us. On it are two glasses of water. One for me and one for her. I will just have to wait for the perfect moment to give Oprah a little something special in her water. "For the viewers at home watching, this man is Max Booth III. He is the praised author of the modern day telling of Roots, which is called This Noose By Which I Hang. It is, in fact, one of the greatest novels ever written about the African American culture. It is provoking, inspiring, and sorrowful. It is a strong tale that will leave it's footprint on America. This is the number one pick for my Book Club. I happen to have the book right here, actually," Oprah says, as she reaches to the side of her chair. This is my chance! I grab the silver flask in my jacket pocket, unscrew the lid, and pour a couple drops of liquid into her water glass. Oh, she'll never suspect a thing! I look at the crowd and hope no one noticed what I had just did. I think I was pretty incognito, though. So I'm in the clear. Oprah turns back around with my book in her hand. I never wanted to write the damn thing, but it was the only sure thing of getting me on this dreadful show. Of getting me this close to this false God. "How about reading us all a short little something from your wonderful book, Mr. Booth?" "Sure, thing, Oprah." I open up my stupid book and start reading a random sentence. Out of the side of my eyes I wait for the ***** to quench her thirst. Come on, just take a sip. You know you want to. The salt shaker is in my pocket, waiting for you, too. Then, I see her reach down at her glass. She touches her cold lips on the glass and the water hits her drains into her mouth. Immediately she yells out and starts to choke. Time to rock n' roll! I stop reading and grab the salt shaker in my pocket. As fast as lighting I sprinkle a circle of salt around Oprah. For demons, salt is like a prison cell; they cant go past it. She is still choking on the holy water I had snuck into her glass. I want to laugh out in joy but I still have to keep my cool. There are guards everywhere ready to tackle me. So, I pull out my silver Desert Eagle .50 and shoot the ceiling. "Everybody back the **** up!" I scream off the top of my lungs. "Just leave me alone, I have some work to do! Now, you guys over there; slide your guns over here. Yeah, that's it. Good doggies. Lay on your stomachs now. Okay, good. Good job." I go through the routine of telling everybody what to do. Stay calm and everything will be alright. Oprah looks at me and asks if I'm crazy. "No, just a man with a job to do." "What job?" she cries. "To send you back to Hell." She is laughing hysterically but then she stops. Her eyes turn a bright red and she stares into mine. "You aren't powerful enough to kill me, stupid boy. I am the antichrist and I will rule this world. First I'll make my followers kill all the men, then themselves. After that my family will rise from Hell and we will live a good eternity up here on Earth. And there is not a damn thing you can do about it, Max Booth III." "You don't have to tell me your plans, *****. I already know all about them." Saliva is dripping from her fangs. She is pure evil, and nothing else. I will take pleasure in killing her. I take out a stack of papers from my pocket and she asks what it is. "This, Oprah, is the script from The Exorcist. Now, be a nice little ***** while I send your ugly ass back to Hell." I flip to the last few pages of the script and recite; "Our Father who art in Heaven ..." Oh, God, I hope this works. That movie better not have been full of ****. I read the entire exorcism rite. Along the way I notice Oprah screaming. Smoke is rising from the pores of her skin as if she is burning. Her teeth are clenched and her eyes are bulging out of their sockets. While I read I occasionally toss more holy water into her face. Man, she is really pissed off! I keep flinching, as if a bucket of pea soup is about to be thrown my way. But it doesn't happen. The only thing that comes out of her mouth is saliva. She is still screaming. The crowd is yelling for me to leave their God alone. Yeah, right. I finish up the exorcism rite and look down at Oprah. "See you in hell," I say, and throw the rest of the holy water on her face. She gives out one last shriek and then her entire body explodes. Her blood and guts splatter all over me and I yelp out in surprise. I notice that everybody else in the studio all have puzzled looks on their faces. They cannot believe what they had just witnessed. I have succeeded. I am the one who hadn't failed. Everybody else who tried to kill the ***** had failed, but not me. Tom Cruise had tried but became a demon himself. Same with John Travolta and that maggot, Gayle King. I am the greatest Exorcist to ever live! Wait a minute ... what is up with the crowd? Why are their eyes all red? Why are they growling at me? ****! Run! I run at full speed and jump through the emergency exit door. I find myself in an alley that smells like burnt hair. With no time to hesitate I run down the alley with my Desert Eagle .50 in hand. I can hear the demons chasing after me. I don't know if they are far off or just an inch away from grabbing distance, but I sure as hell don't wanna stop and find out. I hop on a metal fence and quickly climb to the top. I have a chance to look ahead and I see about thirty angry female demons running toward me with death in their eyes. Before they climb the fence I make a line of salt along the bottom of the railing. Now they can't get to me, well, for now at least. I am laughing, but when I turn around my jaw drops. Tom Cruise is standing right behind me. "Hello, Max," he smiles. "Oh, God, why you?" "You killed our savior, now I am going to kill you." "Bring it on, *******. If you fight as bad as you act in movies then this will be as easy as pie." "Oh, you're gonna regret that little remark, Maxwell." That is it. "No one calls me Maxwell!" I scream, and shoot Tom in the head with my gun. I am surprised to see him fall to the ground. Why would a bullet take down a demon? That has never happened before. Never. Something is not right. This must be a trap of some kind. It has to be. I'm all out of holy water and I don't have enough time to give this bloke a full on exorcism. So what do I do now? I run like hell, of course. I skid out onto the street and am dumbfounded to see a mob of over a hundred women looking at me. "Kill the fiction writer!" they are all chanting. "Kill the evildoer! Put his head on a stick and feed it to a polar bear!" Okay, I think it is time to unleash my secret weapon. I reach into my pocket and pull out ... a cookie. You see, I know the real reason they lost all that weight on that show, The Best Life Weight Loss Challenge. Oprah had forced the contestants into bulimia. Slaves to vomiting. She said it was the only way to really lose weight. It was what she did, after all. The demons froze in their tracks. I could hear them talking. "Cookie!!!" "Oh, man, that looks so goooood!" "Wait, why do I feel like puking?" "I don't know, but I do too--plaaaaauhhhuuk!" Like clockwork, the demonic Oprah fans start to hurl up chunks of their own intestines onto the street pavement. I take some pleasure into this sight, but then the repulsive smell hits my nostril and I start to puke also. God, help me stop! Oh it feels so horrible--plaaaaaauuuhhuckkka! Before I know it I see my own liver splattered on my shoes. I wonder how much it would cost to get them waxed? HUUUUCKCKKK! HUUCK! There goes the lungs. I guess I wont die from lung cancer anytime soon. The puking is like American Idol, it just wont stop! Please, just stop puking! I'm in so much pain! Finally I close my nostrils with my fingers and stop vomiting. Most of the demons are already dead and my stomach feels ten times smaller. I shoot the remaining demons and again I am shocked to see them actually die. Damn, that was pretty crazy. I pull out a piece of paper. It is called "THINGS TO KILL". I check off number one: Oprah Winfrey Now, onto number two: Macaulay Culkin. I'm coming for you, you bastard. Copyright 2008 Max Booth III |
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