Folks, Oprah Winfrey is really getting out of hand. She isn't content to stomp and snort and cry and hug all over the daytime talk show scene. Apparently she doesn't reach a broad enough audience. She seems to feel the need to branch out and tug at the rest of our heartstrings too.

I've always had a bit of a problem with Oprah. Actually, it's been more than a bit of a problem… it's a big problem. I hate Oprah. I hate her I hate her I hate her. I hated Fat Oprah. I hated Skinny Oprah. And I hate In Between Oprah. I hate her talk show, and I hate her magazine, and I hate her arsenal of cookbooks, biographies, and self-help guides. I hate it when she's on the cover of magazines, and when she's featured on A&E's Biography. I hate it when she sings. I hate it when she dances. I hate her website. I hate her whole goddamn commercial empire.

And let me tell you, I really hate her stupid book club.

Oooooooh, I hate that book club. Oprah has so many mindless, blubbering, mentally imbalanced followers in her crying, hugging army of self actualized co-dependency, that every time she picks a new weepy novel as a Book Club Selection, it immediately causes a tidal wave of rampant consumerism. This literary jetsam is washed onto the Bestsellers list, and it floods the display shelves of your local bookstore. The other books - the ones that haven't been graced by Oprah's blessing - don't stand a chance. They are knocked off their feet and swept out to sea.

I'm not saying that Oprah picks entirely bad books. There is usually something good about them - be it character development, plot line, writing style, or pretty cover. But, Christ Almighty, Oprah, does everything have to be a fuckin' story about sisterhood, or a heart-warming tales about the ties that bind people together?! Shit, woman! There's more to life than warm hearts and life's little triumphs!

Hey, I like those books as much as the next reader… but I want the other stuff too. And, as the proud owner of a 'Y' chromosome, I can't always relate the way the other half of the world can.

Recently, having just finished reading my sixth consecutive touching story about a woman who struggles her way through a life of hardship only to discover that the true blessings in her life lay in her blah blah fucking blah, I decided that I needed something different. I needed a book that I could relate to. I needed a book that wasn't about triumph or understanding or the strength of spirit. I needed a book with a dark side. I needed a book with, if not a male protagonist, at least a male character or two. I needed a book without any fucking cats.

I marched off to the local Megalowbookmart, and, thanks to that bitch, Oprah, I couldn't find one. Oh, I'm sure that it was there - somewhere. But let's face it, only certain parts of the store are targeted at browsing - and those parts were stacked floor to ceiling with Oprah's Book Club Selections.

I left the store fuming. I was so ticked off at the Oprah inspired commercialization of feminist literature that I came home, grabbed my copy of Anne-Marie MacDonald's Fall On Your Knees, threw it on the front lawn, soaked it in gasoline, set it ablaze, and extinguished it with my own urine.

Short of reminding myself that hot piss and ashes smells horrible, I didn't really accomplish much in this little fit of rage - but I felt better. I don't think I can say the same for the neighbours.

Having calmed myself down slightly, I considered what to do about my book dilemma. I thought about asking some buddies for book suggestions, but ruled it out almost immediately. I gotta be honest here - I don't know that many guys that read. Not beyond the pages of Maxim or Spiderman, that is. Of those that do, I have learned over time to not trust them.

El Hombre has repeatedly sent me down the path of horribly twisted, disturbed and unsettling literature. Sure, it's usually good stuff… but I can only handle so much of that. I just got off my medication, and I don't need anything setting off The Voices again.

Shaggy D isn't much better for recommendations. Sure, he shares my opinions on Oprah and her evil ways - to quote him directly: "Fuckin' Oprah's Book Club. God damn." Unfortunately, he's bit of and egghead with a seriously masochistic bent. Shaggy likes everything in his life to be an ordeal. This includes books. He reads a lot of manuals and textbooks. When he does pick up a novel, it's almost always horribly complex, and rarely written within the last 150 years.