Prologue - The authors of this book were two National Enquirer reporters. On finishing this paperbacknovel, I figured I’d never need it again, nor recommend it to anyone. So in an act of extreme disdain for a book-loving reader like me, when I finished this book, I tossed it onto the recycle pile. When I went to try to find the authors’ names on Amazon, this particular title, Rosie Oh! could not be found among several other Rosie books I surely won’t be reading. It’s not that this particular book was so revealing of Rosie, but maybe she bought up every copy, and I casually tossed a copy of a book now out of circulation. Surely some idolatrous Rosie fan would’ve offered $omething for even an unflattering book. I have no regrets.

I owed the Jersey City Public Library nearly $12 for overdue books and didn't have it handy. I couldn't borrow books, and instead in an act of masochism on par with self-immolation, flipped through a laying-around 2003 copy of an "unauthorized" paperback bio of one of show business's most obnoxious loudmouths, "Rosie" O'Donnell. She's in the news lately as one of the bathead dames on Barbara Walters' torturously "profound" girlie-girlie soiree, "The View." And here's Rosie Oh having a "feud" with another celebrity bombast, the Donald Trump. LIGAF (see "on language"). Rosie's an admitted stone dyke lesbo, and more open about it than, say, Ofrah, who teases her own idolatrous audience about how she gets her naked jollies. Everyone knows Ofrah gets hers via intra-broad frolics, but it's not polite to say or speculate unless Offie decides there's a buck in it and out she'll fly forth. Ofrah is probably the most successful girlie-girl in the long history of broads, but she probably thinks she's already hurdled one hurdle being a successful "black" woman -- why tempt fate by adding the "lesbo" label? And what a carpet-munch bed-shattering pairing that would be: Ofrah and Rosie? Who says it hasn't happened? Rosie did Madonna, and Ofrah is an equally annoying gigantic celebrity.

Ms. O'Donnell made her show-biz bones on the stand-up circuit, in precisely the wisenheimer know-it-all smarmy persona which she maintains to this day. Today she pontificates unknowingly on everything from the War in Iraq, to global warming, to gun control, and the state of tormented closeted dykes everywhere. Rosie's a glib cad -- the dame equivalent of another annoying stand-up celeb who thinks making people laugh and having an "issues-oriented" TV show qualifies him as a deep-thinker: Bill Maher. Rosie's predictable and tired trendy-left bleats electrify her otherwise brain-dead admirers, who think she's a policy figure on par with Hillary Clinton. And that ain't saying much for Hillary because Rosie's policy notions are Hillary's too.

A determined and ambitious lass who carried emotional baggage from the age of ten when her mother died, Rosie parlayed her stand-up shtick into that mother-of-all emblems of success: a self-named daytime talk show. And so began Rosie's own initial Ofrah imitation: should she risk her middle of the road audience by admitting she likes to give un-medical pelvic exams on her gender equals? No, principle would wait until Rosie had enough stashed cash to insulate herself from the fallout of any principle stand. Nonetheless, even before she came out as the cow-romping dyke she is, just as with Ofrah, everyone "knew." Once she decided to officially publicize her intra-gender bedroom follies, Rosie became ever more obnoxious. Formerly known as the "Queen of Nice," the new Rosie, perhaps now the king of arrogance, perfectly fulfilled the stereotype of a mannish dyke. It ain't a pretty picture any way you “view” it. And now we don’t have to since she’s off that torturous damefest.

Rosie has girlfriends, and then they break up, get back together, and break up some more. She's presently "married" to some cropped-chin-n-hair broad. Rosie has money fights with broads, as if these broads are in it for Rosie. Rosie adopts a bunch of kids; she's a pioneer in the new paradigm of instant celebrity mommy and daddy-hood without the travails of child-birth. Rosie decides she wants to do the full multi-media Ofrah and agrees to have McCall's renamed for her. Ever the know-it-all, she fails to know magazines and the venture blows up in lawsuits. As the book closes, Rosie is content to raise her bratty brood in alternative-lifestyle-bliss, lying in wait for her next opportunity to offend. The authors, a couple of former National Enquirer reporters, promise exclamation-point revelations. It's overall humdrum stuff about a fat, troubled, annoying, wise-cracking lesbian made good. Rosie herself gave interviews with the Enquirer likely in the vain belief that she might at least influence their coverage; no one cares.

She's back now, of course, Rosie's rotund-ness a bovine presence on Barbara Walters' View show. A perfect fit, really, for Rosie, as audience broads eat her line of uncritical thinking up and worship her in Ofrah-esque fealty. Rosie picks fights, backtracks, utters off-the-cuff stupidities. She has the “Oh that’s Rosie being Rosie” immunity grant from her man-repelling audience. Dumb dame audiences love her anti-man demeanor enough to make her rich several times over. Overweight, annoying, lesbianistic, all-knowing, unattractive, and allergic to man-meat. Yep: Rosie Oh is the perfect role model for dames everywhere, including most especially the closet.

Epilogue – Rosie quit The View, and was briefly considered to be a replacement candidate for Bob Barker on The Price is Right game show. However hokey The Price is Right is, it’s a mainstream show to the extent that Rosie’s smart-mouth dyke shtick wasn’t going to fly there. Thus as of press time, Rosie Oh! is Rosie No on the gig front. Rest assured, celebrity masochists, a beast like Rosie will be back.

 

This Book Out of Print