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Friday, 10 December 2010

image for Oprah Winfrey: "I Was Never Even Kinda Billie Jean King's Sex Slave"
A New Meaning To The Term "Racket Abuse": The Walk Is Usually An Indication

In a 15-hour long Lobotomy Channel interview with Dolores Dungheape yesterday, Oprah Winfrey yet again denied rumours that she had a sado-masochistic lesbian affair with tennis-player Billie Jean King, reports Crocodile Tears Correspondent, Freya L T Thynameiswoman.

Oprah was very emotional as she refused to acknowledge the stories that she has worn a collar and crawled naked with a tennis racket in her rectum and a tennis ball for a gag around the indoor replica Wimbledon Centre Court located at Ms King's hideaway boot camp near Oshkosh, Winsconsin, while Billie Jean flogged her with a wet towel and the Madison Scouts Drum and Bugle Corps played their signature tune, You'll Never Walk Alone over the loudspeaker system. She said that the report that she had been forced to urinate over a life-sized photograph of former British tennis player Ann Jones holding the 1969 Wimbledon Ladies Trophy and worship the Madison Skyline was "irritating. The reason it's irritating is that someone must think I'm lying. That's reason number one.

"Number two is, that there must be folks who think I can get a tennis racket up my butt. Why would I want to hide that? You could easily tell, from the way I walked, that I had spent quality time with a racket in my ass. I'd walk like Prince Chuck of England. Now there's a guy who looks like he's done his time at Billie Jean's Boot Camp, only I wouldn't start any ugly rumours, which is why it's so irritating. Have you seen the price of butt lube these days? I was checking it out for a friend, in case you were wondering."

"I have said me and Billie are not gay - well I'm not, anyhow - enough times."

When pressed on her relationship with the hatchet-featured King, Oprah was emotional.

After a long pause, she choked back her own sincerity, swallowed back her upwelling candid honesty, and said: "She is...the mother I never had. She is...the sister I almost wanted. She is...the schoolmarm anyone would almost never have wanted but nearly had by accident. She is...the mother superior I almost never had the opportunity to submit to. She is...the sergeant-major anyone would love to hate to almost want. She is...the brutal dominatrix everybody deserves. I don't know a better dyke. I don't know a more butch rug-munching lesbo sadist. I don't know a better more ugly beaver-breakfasting flogger. I am her slave for ever and ever and ever and I want her tennis racket again, again, again now please more more more."

There was another pause. Oprah became emotional, fighting to contain her own heroic honesty. She spoke again, calmer now. "Now every time we show up at an S & M tennis club, there's an explosion of exploitative stories.

"I mean, there's folks like Rosie Casals there, and Charlie Pasarell, and they don't get these headlines, do they? If I were friends with Rosie, would you be asking me these questions?

"Not that I don't often think of her when she was playing tennis, and imagine the two of us, nude, in a tepee, say somewhere about South Dakota in the 1850s, like we are in the Lakota tribes, or somesuch. It's a new fantasy of mine I like to have, while the tennis racket is being valeted and disinfected, and I'm having anal repair work done at my surgeon in Duluth.

"It is really all too much", Oprah concluded, heaving back her truthfulness and bravery, "I just don't see where they get all these bizarre stories. Have they nothing better to do than make up stupid nonsense, these parasites living off other folks' fame and success?"

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