High life

I was Oprah Winfrey’s hero

20 March 2021

9:00 AM

20 March 2021

9:00 AM


Some of you may have noticed that I have not commented at all about the ongoing soap opera and latest brouhaha concerning the halfwit and Meghan Macbeth. That’s because I decided long ago that the best way to counter their publicity machine is never to mention them. But I’ve also done something that most of the hacks writing about the couple have not: I’ve been a guest on Oprah’s show twice, on one occasion by my little old self for a whole hour.

Although wince-inducing, squirming, cringeworthy and gushing, The Oprah Show always has a theme and, more importantly, a hook. The hook is what will make people’s ears prick up. In her recent interview with Meghan and Harry, the hook was the theme of racism in the palace, and in particular the baby Archie story.

Make no mistake about it, that show was rehearsed, the main points agreed upon and then reviewed for any ‘gotcha’ details that may have escaped the trio and a battalion of extras. Everything on American television is a lie: canned laughter, faux spontaneity, fake news, misleading advertisements. So why not rehearsed interviews? They sell millions of dollars worth of tooth whiteners that don’t work, hair-growing lotions that don’t make hair grow, skin products that don’t stop wrinkles. Why not sell the idea that there is racism at the palace?

Although I’m told she acted sycophantically towards the couple, Oprah is a mini- tyrant on and off the set, who expects total subservience. She also knows how to turn on the charm and is a self-made billionaire black American female, which is no mean achievement. Here’s how we got together.

It was 1982 and I had written an anti-feminist article for The American Spectator that appeared under the heading ‘American Women Are Lousy Lovers’. It certainly caught the eye of many people, except that I had written nothing about the sex act, referring only to the American habit of high-pitched screeching, granite looks, large teeth, aggressive posturing and lack of femininity. The Phil Donahue Show offered to pay for a first-class ticket from Athens to Chicago, all expenses —and my return to the birthplace of selective democracy — for one hour 30 minutes of my time. Although training for the European karate championships at the time, I accepted. It was late September. The Donahue Show went well because I turned the audience against him and pro-me when I made my case for keeping a mistress but never divorcing my loyal wife. ‘Unlike you, Phil, we Europeans do not change wives for a new model, as though they were a car, every year. We put them on a pedestal, worship them, and have our fun on the side. Didn’t you get rid of the mother of your four children last year for a new model?’ ‘You son-of-a-bitch,’ exploded Donahue, but the mostly aged female audience began cheering for me.

After the show, Oprah was straight on the telephone to me. I was a natural choice for her show. Before we went on air, she asked what I thought of black women. ‘The audience will be very interested in that,’ she said. (That was the hook; the audience was 50 per cent African-American.) On air I told her my verdict — they are great company, I said, enthusiastically. I might have used language a little more spicy than would be wise to repeat now. Oprah loved my answer: I was her 1982 hero. Five years later, not so much.

On that occasion, she flew a friend and me to Chicago from New York. The theme this time was older men who date younger women. My buddy, a Vietnam veteran, highly decorated and not too shifty upstairs, began: ‘Why go out with an old bag when…’ The women in the audience started to hiss. A diplomatic Taki saved the day by announcing that mature women would never date bums like us, whereas innocent youngsters might. Oprah was not best pleased, but the ladies were. The hook had not worked. The next invitation to appear on Oprah will be during the next life.

I believe that it was Abe Lincoln who predicted America would become a great superpower whose demise would come by suicide. Like a disease spreading uncontrollably, wokeness will bring about the final collapse of the republic. Major publications owned by white billionaires are digging America’s grave, spreading the poison that whiteness is a problem that has to be confronted, along with white history, art, literature and movies. Oprah is a self-made lady who realised earlier than most that self-centredness had become the most cherished value in American minds. Nothing else mattered but me, me, me. Thirty years ago, the ‘Oprahisation’ of America was discussed in these here pages. H and MM were naturals for her show. A dysfunctional family is catnip to Oprah.

Narcissism is to TV what Paganini was to the violin. Meghan will one day replace Oprah as America’s auntie. She will make billions, and permit Harry to graze peacefully on a California farm. You read it here first.

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