Rosie O'Donnell Show "So Gay"

s fans of Rosie O'Donnell and people who will read anything know, a biography of the comedian and talk show host will hit the stores in April revealing many intimate facts about the familiar face everyone thinks they know so well. But there's one thing that you won't find in the book—that her show is gay.

That revelation is in a new book already on the shelves, and author Peter Herdingway is proud to scoop all other outlets with his non-fiction work, This Show's Gay: The Hard Truth About That Crap You Like.

"It's something a lot of us know about Rosie O'Donnell's talk show, but so few say it," says Herdingway, discussing his decision to publish the book. "It was something that needed to be said, and I figured making a nice sack of money doing so was the icing on the cake."

In the book, the first of its kind, Herdingway shines the light on the gayest shows in Hollywood. According to Herdingway, among the gay shows on the air are Touched By An Angel, Providence, Will & Grace (so gay it's not even funny), and Big Brother. But, according to Herdingway, nothing is gayer than The Rosie O'Donnell Show.

"Well, for one thing," said Herdingway, pointing out flamboyantly gay tendencies in the show, "it's on in the morning, that's a big signal on the gaydar. It's a talk show, all those daytime talk shows are pretty gay. But have you ever watched the show? The jokes, the guests, the bits with the cooks or whatever. It's all gay city, U.S.A."

According to Herdingway, the gay phenomenon doesn't end with the show itself. As hard as it may be to believe, yes, says Herdingway, even Rosie's magazine companion to the show is gay.

"If you take one look at the magazine, you'll realize it is so gay," said Herdingway. "The interviews with celebrities and their gay pictures with Rosie. The tips on parenting and recipes and shit. It's so gay it's like a giant gay pyramid of ancient Gaygypt, I'm not kidding."

Some, namely we at the commune, have accused Herdingway of being a bigot and insensitive to the homosexual community. Herdingway says not at all, he is fully in support of rights for homosexuals.

"I have no issues with homosexuality at all," said Herdingway. "But that doesn't mean I want gay TV. No one, regardless of their sexual preference, should have to watch a gay show. And let's face it, man, The Rosie O'Donnell Show is so gay it's the capitol of North Gaylina."

Rosie O'Donnell herself could not be reached for comment as she was heavily promoting her book on PrimeTime Live segments posing as real journalism. People working on The Rosie O'Donnell Show we contacted refused to answer our questions, suggesting instead we "jump up" their asses, which certainly sounds gay to us.

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Emil's Note: I know what you're thinking, loyal commune-ist: "Oh great, more recycled Finger columns from bargain bin porn mags." Frankly, I'm shocked you would think so cynically. You're wrong on that point as well, as this is BRAND NEW FINGER! It only seems recycled because that's part of his charm. Yes, I found Rok Finger once more, working in the most unexpected of places, as part of a nightclub act in Savannah, Georgia. Yes, now that I think about it, I suppose it was kind of expected. After much cajoling, and tender massage, I convinced our staid old tell-it-like-it-should-be columnist to volunteer a few more pages to remind us of better commune times. He isn't likely to move out of the Peach State yet, but this is almost as good as having him right here in the office! I'll just imagine that old creepy collectible Linda Hunt doll mom keeps down here is him until the real thing is in attendance. So enjoy fresh finger, good people…

My faithful readers, please be kind to me, as I'm a bit out of practice on ranting in typeface. But the Arab who owns the commune now assures me thousands of my fans are camped out in front of the building and will give no one any peace until they receive more of my motivational thoughts and harrowing true stories.

The god's honest truth is that I don't have much to write about. I have not been opining in a very long while, except on stage, and my life has become considerably boring since I earned my living at the commune. Times were tough, I borrowed a sizable high-interest loan from a hyper-intelligent 10-year-old, the enema bar failed, I couldn't pay it back, so I had to go into hiding working in show business. It's the world's oldest cliché, I'm boring myself talking about it.

Still, it's fair to say there's enough of interest to me to keep me breathing. My wife is working the upscale Hoboken real estate market while I'm living the high life on the Savannah entertainment scene, which is perhaps a little depressing, but we're both living our dreams. Her dream involves lots of land and garish sport coats, mine involves thing people really care about, but that doesn't mean they're not equally important. The fact people pay to see me perform each night is what means they're not equally important. Yes, I have broken into the lucrative world of voice-catching action figure performance.

Some people still use the term "ventriloquist dummy," not realizing how offensive it is to those of us who perform. For instance, the little pissant camel-jockey who asked me to write this column still says "dummy, but did he ever think how dummies feel to be called dummies? True, most of them are inanimate wooden dolls that display no emotion, but that doesn't mean they don't feel. And what about the rest of them that do, namely me? So get politically correct already, you stupid Polacks.

I've always had an eye for the voice-catching-inclined, as we tend to shop in the same stores, so it was a lateral move from wearing their clothes to performing in the business. True, I had originally gone to the Yak Yak Club to work as a gruff but lovable bartender, but they took issue with the fact I could not be seen behind the bar. It was the Great Raymondo who noticed I had a touch of talent, particularly looking "creepy as fuck," and while I don't know much about voice-throwing talents like Raymondo, I can say he does a dynamite impression of my voice. Except my Johnny Carson impression, he can't do that. Isn't that odd?

Raymondo, like most convicted sex offenders looking to break into show business, was down and out, and could not afford his own voice-catching action figure, so he asked that I join his stage team—I even get first billing—and simply enhance his jokes by making funny faces and spinning my head around 360 degrees. I'm still working on that part, although I have managed a firm 180, which is no small feat.

Speaking of which, my small feet help. All my life I have been subject to ridicule for being undersized, as well as especially unattractive, but now at long last, when people see me kicking my tiny shoes back and forth while Raymondo mimics my voice, they don't make fun of me, they just laugh and laugh and laugh.

Admittedly, in a perfect world, I would have a lot more to do with the material we perform. It's kind of Raymondo's baby at this point, I'm just shaking it violently. I respect his humor is mostly wood-based and, yes, I get some of the best zings at his expense, but I don't see why we couldn't work in some of my stinging observations on how unnecessary queens are and why should we have to pay taxes. Not to mention a little soft shoe, properly amplified so the audience can hear the tap sounds. But everybody stops somewhere, and once I get to that level of fame where I can squeeze Raymondo out, it will be "Rok & Nobody" instead of "Rok & Raymondo." You know, I've never considered it until now, but I might even cut the "& Nobody" out of the title, why should I have to share my marquee with Nobody?

This has been a reminder of the good old pre-voice-catching days. Almost enough to make me miss the common. Still, big fame awaits me, and I must run. I'm auditioning for Jeff Dunham later today, and I'd do anything to get on that guy's meal ticket. I'm even considering a surgery that allows the voice-thrower to move my mouth by sticking his hand into my back. I'm not saying yes to it, just considering it. Surgical augmentation is all the rage in show business, the showgirls tell me.

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I can't wait to be a video game.

Didn't you hear already? I know most of you, I heard "web-literate" is the nice way to say it, are all about video games. So I figure most of you know. In case you didn't, I'm on my way to being a video game!

It's not for my outstanding columning, or for my world-famous role in Who's Your Daddy? Not even for my movies. I'm being rewarded long-lasting video game fame thanks to my part in the Metallichick comic book.

At long last, some lasting legacy for Clarissa Coleman! I don't have to worry about being locked into the '80s because of my stupid TV roles or movie appearances. I'll be timeless, like Ms. Pac-Man. Of course, it's just called Metallichick, but by the time I get done telling everybody it won't be a mystery who provides that unmistakable image for Metallichick, as well as the voice.

It took some convincing, I had to pull some strings with Nat Herschel, the creator of Metallichick, but I convinced him it was good for all involved if I did the voice for Metallichick, too. I told him I knew the character inside and out, I had devoted a lot of work to developing her personality—how she arched her back, why she stuck her ass out so far when holding her sword, all kinds of stuff. I even told him I came up with a backstory of how she keeps her costume in place, like they evolved past duct tape in the future she lives in. Of course, I didn't, but you got to be smooth with these creative types to get future work.

I got to go out to this studio in New Jersey and record the video game character's voice, and it takes a whole shitload of time. I've done DVD commentaries before and even did some voice work, once in a while. None of it compares to all the video game voice work. Apparently these characters talk a whole fucking lot. They open a box and just say what they found, all sorts of dumb stuff. No one does that in the real world. Well, my dad does, but no one else. Every video game shouldn't be about my dad.

I try to inject some realism here and there, but these video game directors are harder than real ones. Here's a pop quiz: You get shot with a laser blast or chopped with a sword, which are you more likely to say? "Aaarrgh!" (extra stress on the 'g'), or "Fuck, dude!" If you said the second one, give up on a career doing video game voices. They would not have it. And apparently it's more fashionable when you're slaying baddies to shout, "Let my sword guide you to hell!" instead of, "Boo-yah, bitch! Hope you got Medicare!"

Which is why I tried to tell them about my idea for a video game. This whole "sword and sci-fi" crap is okay, but you're just giving folks what they already have tons of. Comic book video games have seen their day. Celebrity video games are the way of the future. I know if I wanted to have real fun I would rather live a day in my life than some sorceress with a broadsword.

We could do all kinds of crazy shit. I wake up, can't find the cereal, it's like a little adventure until I remember I poured it over my mashed potatoes the night before and it's in the living room. My agent phones and I have to hear about his glory days when he used to manage Liza Minnelli, and I try to get him off the phone before my boredom level kills me. Ramrod Hurley calls and tells me the commune needs its column by 5 and I have to whip out some bullshit in ten minutes or risk losing that fat paycheck and primo exposure.

Too real, that's what the video game dorks told me. The world isn't ready for reality yet. I suppose I'd have to agree. Some days I can't even handle it.

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