Oprah, Winfrey, pilled up bloated, grotesque, slathered in paint, eyes bulging so far out they’re almost leaving their unbearable bloated sockets, rises off her literally 24 Karat golden jet toilet to preach.
twitching in orgasmically ***-deprived, relished childhood trauma convulsions.
Her toneless limbs jiggling independently, marionette-style,
puppeteered by the corporate machine that let her birth Dr. Phil. Right there on the stage in all of its grotesque, ******, umbilical glory.
The doped up brainless sock puppet she is, shrieking again
into the mic, goes gobs of spittle
flying onto the front row , veins pulsing, trying to warn America about
these supposedly pandemic-level
teenage *** acts.
Every day some new hallucinatory contrivance
based on underage ****** needs
(the needs of the audience, not the supposed perpetrators).
The "rainbow parties" that never happened.
Alleged lipstick “epidemic” she’s describing is projected on the set like a grotesque, fluorescent slideshow.
Kids with rainbow-stained lipstick-smattered penises,
PTA moms wet and shrieking in jealousy,
moral panic levels off the charts.
Checking under their seats for free *** toy goodies.
The children!
Oh, the children!
Whoever shall save them? The poor innocent oversexualized children !
Wait, what? What are they doing now?
Cut to kids eating Tide pods, huffing ****** fluids, peeing in Jenkum bottles, Cutting freon lines, riding elevators on top,
dying of meningitis , satanic panic repacked church lies.
As if the Tiger mom world itself were actually collapsing under her hysterical, warped, unrealistic, and utterly sensationalized quasi-conservative lens.
After all, her opening act was straight out of The Dark Crystal.
The grand doilied skeksi decrepit animated skeleton queen ................................ (fanfare blares)
Judge Judy! ( Rises from the deep)
her crypt desecrated...
Unholy powers erupt. Gavel lightning apocalypse raging beside her. ( Notice how like a Skeksi she doesn't have any ears, but she obviously doesn't use them anyway. Her mind's already made up before the whole show begins.)
And now a word from our heartless corporate sponsors . Bass Pro Shops ads play , followed by catheter adds and gun show spots... The show fades back in and the living room darkens into abyssal sad lonely silence . The T,V, god flickers on brainwashing away all thought and individuality .
Fat greasy shameless Walrus mustache of projection now known as Oprah's baby...
Dr. Phil,
... well, he unctuously slides across the set in his stolen Scarecrow used car salesman polyester Frankenstein suit,
repeating the grotesque ritual lines.
Behind the scenes, Rush Limbaugh masturbates his mental pull string.
And of course, out spews his catchphrase:
"Yer fat!
You are ugly!
Yur stupid!
And yer gay!
And that's why NOBODY loves you !
Admit it!
Admit that yer gay and you hate yourself!!"
And in the moment of ******, IT transmorphs,
spinal ridges straining and cracking,
human form melts,
face elongates,
eyes bulge,
skin wrinkles into leathery, vulture-like textures.
His torso hunches,
ribs jutting grotesquely,
spine contorting like a broken marionette string.
Limbs wiggle independently
like he’s got a dozen "Grand Ole Party" puppeteers fighting for control,
except he’s still tethered to Karl Rove and Rush Limbaugh’s umbilical cord as it runs back into Oprah's unused, abandoned ******.
Ghostly, corpulent waggling hands behind the curtain, twisting him into submission, laughing with their hollow, gassy whispers.
Suddenly, Dr. Phil melts completely and rears up as Judge Judy—but not the human one. This is the skeksi-Judge hybrid: ****-backed, beak-faced, leather-skin gleaming, clawed fingers gripping the gavel
like it’s the source of all earthly justice and bile.
Her eyes burn like a thousand angry American flags on the 4th of July, grease-fried hate dripping from her every twitch. Back it turns into doily-adorned, hairsprayed perfection, nightmare desiccation... that could only dominate as... *** *** ***
Judge Judy-skeksi!
The seemingly ageless, eternal, hate-filled windbag of injustice. ****-backed, vulture-faced, robes fluttering, crackling with electric American ***** housewife wrath,
striking lightning into the pastel Sunday school conversation sky.
Praise her lord; he speaks to her directly, and, well, apparently
"W" Bush too... remember... it was God that told him, he said.
Behind the curtains, unseen yet omnipotent, the two-headed hate blob that is
Karl Rove and Rush Limbaugh, waggles a wet-slapping colonialist ******* of capitalist greed.
A now corpulent wraith of power and self-righteous, uneducated spite,
it squelches, turning knobs,
ashing its cheap cigar, it continues to pull strings, gurneys creaking,
laughter a vacuous shitstorm across the stage.
America cheers, unaware of the puppeteer,
and the nation, hypnotized, bows still,
loving, worshipping, repeating her hysteria,
while the gavel strikes, the lightning arcs.
Remember, it's all
"for the children!"
"Oh, the poor children!"
Whom all they want is to be left the fu@# alone by these twisted, sadistic, effed-up garbage human beings that simultaneously claim to cherish and love them, yet blame them for unreal atrocities they never even committed.
Idiot home ec drunken hollow moms pilled up useless abandoned and brainwashed into her slaves. Blathering Rush Limbaugh hate . Same message repackaged as grotesque, capitalist soap opera formula Oprah perfected — it’s a ritual of emotional vampirism:
Step one: coax the gruesome confession — “Tell me your sad story, your deepest hurt, your shame your *** crimes.”
Step two: perform feigned empathy — she leans in, nods, tilts her head, makes you and Tom Cruise think she cares, while the cameras roll and the audience licks its lips and looks under its seat.
Presents, ? ! black mommy ?
Step three: unleash the moralistic or panic-inducing lash — “How could you let this happen? You failed! You’re broken!” Enter Dr. Phil for the final suicide inducing push.
Step four: monetize more misery — ratings spike, sponsors grin, Dr. Phil slithers across the set, and somewhere, Rush Limbaugh-esque whispering strings pull the emotional cord. While Judge Judy cackles in high road delight
It’s emotional cannibalism wrapped in velvet and toothpaste smiles. You’re not just sharing their story; it's lives as raw meat for the machine, and the more shame, fear, or outrage they squeeze out of you, the fatter the profits get. The greater the grip of unfounded panic, fear and shame.
And the kicker: American drop out jobless clown car vaginas thinks it’s entertainment, not exploitation. They love to gasp at the horror while secretly watching themselves in the mirror of shame. That’s why the Skeksi-Judge Judy apocalypse scene fits perfectly — it’s the cartoon grotesque version of the real-world emotional slaughterhouse. Now court sanctioned and final !
