Oprah Breaks Frey Into 'A Million Little Pieces'

First I missed the NYC transit strike and now this. Oprah has been dedicated to the burial of James Frey, author of the memoir “A Million Little Pieces,” for almost two weeks. And I’ve done nothing in defense of my fellow addict. James Frey, not Oprah. Though she is addicted to herself. Note to self: Start a chapter of Oprah Anonymous.

Here’s a recap: Dude writes a memoir about drugs and addiction and his wicked fucked up life. He put his experience on paper. Oprah says to her flunkies, “His book is my pick for OPRAH’S BOOK CLUB.” She loves it, she reads it, she’s captivated, and her audience learns how to smoke H. Smoking Gun, online focus-less Woodward and Bernstein nerds, publish a report titled, “The Man Who Conned Oprah.” Not the man who lied about his book that sold millions of copies. Not the ethical principles of the blurring line separating Fiction from Non-Fiction.

Come on! Everyone’s memoir has a few lies. That's why it's called a memoir, not an autobiography. (To assume that memoirs don’t spin the truth means you’re naïve, and are probably being taken for thousands of dollars by some cult that told you they’d fix your “leaky roof” for only $5,000.) It’s O.K. to lie in your memoir. Lies make the truth better. Some famous memoir writing liars did it way before Frey. Candice Bergen? PRETTY LIAR. John Glenn? NOBLE LIAR. Dwight Eisenhower? MILITARY LIAR. Greg Louganis? FAG LIAR. Bill Clinton? BLOW JOB LIAR. Anne Frank? PERSECUTED TEEN, and POSSIBLE LIAR. (C’mon, that diary may as well have been jotted down on a dry-erase board. What a crock! Yeah, I lived in my attic and hid from Hitler, too, Anne! Puberty sucked for me, too, Anne!)

So Smoking Gun's headline draws major attention from serious newsmen. Larry King has does a whole show dedicated to uncovering the scandal. Oprah calls in, and she defends Frey. According to Oprah, sage, oracle, goddess, he is a man who “stepped out of [alcohol and drug addiction] to be the man he is today.”

Later, in a dream she has that night, an epiphany occurs. She is fucking Oprah, defender of good, giver outer of crappy cars, speaker of plainly obvious moral truths. Her book club seal of approval is literary gold, it’s the best thing that’s happened to publishing since the invention of the printing press. “Oprah will not be duped by a junkie liar,” she whispers quietly to herself. (Steadman hears just the, ‘Oprah will not’ part then rolls over figuring the last part of the sentence was ‘ever marry my black ass.’) No one lies to Oprah. Oprah is honesty personificiationalized. She will change course and nail him. So, Oprah says to Frey, “Come back on my show. Defend yourself.” During the taping she gives him a royal beat down. It’s a televised sequel to the Spanish Inquisition. She strips Frey’s lying ass naked. Lyin’ about his root canal; lyin’ about jail, lyin’ about Suicide Lilly, Lilly who supposedly hanged herself but who really slit her wrists.

OPRAH: I acted in defense of you and as I said, my judgment was clouded because so many people seemed to have gotten so much out of it. But now I feel that you conned us all.

Oprah was not the target of a con. This may be semantics, but Frey set out to write a book about his journey. He did not attempt to grift Oprah. He wrote a memoir with some bullshit in it. If a single person got something out of his book then she'd be wise to shut the hell up.

OPRAH: I remember when you were here the last time. In the after-show a woman stood up and said, “You know, after reading this book and seeing you coming through what you came through, the way you did, and you having the attitude that you did makes me feel like I can do it, too.” I think you presented a false person.

False person or no false person, WHATEVER, WHOMEVER and HOWEVER a person suffering from alcohol and drug addiction, or someone affected by alcoholism and drug addition, is helped in any way, it’s spectacular. I don't care if Santa and the Easter Bunny lead the intervention.

Uh, Oh! All is not well. Oprah Winfrey has been lied to! Ahhh! By an addict! Ooooh! That druggie author guy lied to Oprah. Let’s have a Senate Hearing! Oprah views herself as infallible. I learned in Catholic school that the only infallible entities are God (defined as the whole Trinity: Dad, Jr. and the Spook) and The Pope. Given her overwhelming power, I’m not surprised. Oprah could easily become the Pope. All it’d take is a decree and a formidable wire transfer. (Tomorrow, on OPRAH: "The First Female, Black Pope, ME!") But Oprah isn’t the Pope. I believe, though, that at some level, Oprah has bought her own legend. She honestly believes she is some kind of Wonder Woman. And if just one of her staff/minions dares to say a damn thing, they’re off the payroll like a Prom Dress.

By the way, I worshipped Wonder Woman. My feelings for her were not pure. I suspected that I might be guilty of a sin, but watching her run around in a costume that glorified her breasts and the American flag rendered me oblivious. Clad in a plaid skirt and wool socks, the uniform of St. Colette, I learned to fear sin, to fear what I thought. “Thou Shalt Not Worship False Idols.” That effort failed. When I was 6, I added “…Except Wonder Woman.” I remeber Wonder Woman's lasso of truth. It always worked, even on Nazi day players. Oprah wishes she had a truth lasso! No one could ever lie to her and she wouldn’t have to be mean, righteous and indignant. Keep this on the D.L. You didn’t hear it from me. I KNOW WONDER WOMAN. WONDER WOMAN IS A FRIEND OF MINE. AND OPRAH WINFREY IS NO WONDER WOMAN.

As an addict myself, I shouldn't be frontin'. I should step up for my man, Jim F. I should do service, volunteer to sit Oprah down in her ultra-fab Lake Shore Drive penthouse, and tell her the truth. I’d tell her that she ain’t nobody. She’s not special or different. Know a drunk? Know a junkie? You’ve been lied to. Lady, that’s what addicts do! We lie. Wake up and smell the crystal meth! Even when we stop devouring substances, we’re still liars, just clean liars trying hard to stay clean and not lie. Trust me, I know firsthand. Wait, don't trust me. I'm probably lying about something. Although I can't be sure, nor can anyone. Aristotle once said, "Liars, when they speak the truth, are not believed." How's that for a pickle?

One of the litany of questions she posed to James Fry was why did he lie? Why would he do that? He responded, “I think one of the coping mechanisms I developed was sort of this image of myself that was greater, probably, than—not probably—that was greater than I actually was. In order to get through the experience of the addiction, I thought of myself as being tougher than I was and badder than I was—and it helped me cope. When I was writing the book…instead of being as introspective as I should have been, I clung to that image."

James Fry and I share more than a history of addiction. We share the killer combo of monumental ego coupled low self-esteem. We act like we’re brilliant and bulletproof but inside we're terrified. What do other people think of us? That we're phonies? That we're stupid, ugly, unloveable? That we'll die alone and penniless? Addicts treat themselves like shit b/c that's what they think they deserve. At least it was true for me.

See, we really hate ourselves, but if we can manage to dupe somebody into believing the smokescreen, we’re a success! Hence, the hot air, blither and drabble. We inflate ourselves and manipulate the truth because it allows us the luxury of forgetting how awful we are. Lying is a commonly practiced technique used for the sole purpose of hiding our illness. The sickness of addiction manifests itself in the body when we ingest our drink/drug of choice. Next comes the inevitable. We fall down stairs and vomit and alienate our friends & family and punch our boss in the nuts and lose our house. At least that’s the part ‘straight’ people know. (Nnot un-gay straight, but un-fucked-up straight.) Few are aware of the other dimension to the sickness that exists in the mind. The lies get invented there.

A common misconception of addicts theorizes that we're just pussies who stop drinking and then have to say we're sorry to everybody. As addicts, we don’t ‘blame’ anything on our sickness. We accept the consequences of our actions and try to do something different the next time.

James Frey went on national television, sat with Oprah, and made an amends. He said, “I came here and I have been honest with you…I’ve admitted to lying…If I come out of this experience with anything, it’s to be a better person, learn from my mistakes and make sure that I don’t repeat them.”

Congratulations, Oprah. You nabbed the bad guy. Good kill.

Read “A Million Little Pieces.” Call it whatever you want. It’s a powerful story and a gift of James Frey’s experience. Even if it is just a load of shit.