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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Once upon a time, there lived a poor old cobbler who was very sad because he could have no children. He would wander up and down the road kicking puppies into the street gutter and praying to God to give him a child. Any child. Even someone else's child. Then, one day, he got married.

Before too long, his wife was pregnant and he knew that one day, he would have a child. This made him so happy he could scarcely cobble (or whatever the heck it is a poor cobbler does for a living). He and his lovely wife (who dies very soon in this story so let's not bother giving her a name) were very happy when the time came for her to have the baby, but since medical science was not very advanced at this time (they would drill open a hole in your skull to let the demons out if you complained about a broken foot) she died.

Well, the poor cobbler was heartbroken that his wife, uh, whatshername, died. He was so heartbroken that even six straight hours of cobbling couldn't take his mind off it. So he named his child "That Kid Who Killed My Wife." Later, he wised up and changed the name to "Benjamin." Benjamin was a cute little boy and he would often help his father cobble. Then, the poor cobbler met another lovely woman and fell in love with her. Luckily, she fell in love with him too and they got married at the local 7-11 during rush hour next to the Slurpee machine.

The poor cobbler's new wife was a cruel woman, though. And she greatly despised Benjamin because she knew he would inherit all of her new husband's inheritance when he died (something she had planned for Labor Day right in time for the sales). This greatly upset her, and when she gave birth to a daughter, she named her "Better Than Benjamin" but the poor cobbler made her rename the child "Stephany."

Stephany and Benjamin grew up as great and dear friends and loved each other immensely. One day, they were playing under some power lines and frying ants with a magnifying glass while their father was busy cobbling. The step-mother (or mother in Stephany's case but we'll refer to her as "step-mother" from now on) went and made some lemonade. Then, she prepared two cups—one with poison in it and the other one, well, with no poison in it. She filled them both with lemonade and called for the children to come in.

The children ran into the house, fell to the ground, paused, got back up, and then ran through the door. The step-mother handed them cups full of lemonade and told them to go back outside after they were done so she could get back to knitting that body bag. They gleefully drank down their cups of lemonade. The step-mother smiled wickedly to herself and watched them run back outside. Hours later, they returned for more lemonade. Unbeknownst to the step-mother, Benjamin had spent his off-time from cobbling as a poison specialist and had developed an immunity to most poisons. "Drat," said his step-mother. "I forgot about that."

So another day, after the poor cobbler went to a Cobbling Convention in Las Vegas, she conceived her next plot. She told the children it was time for their baths. She took little Stephany in, gave her a nice hot bath with Bubbles. Bubbles was always taking baths with Stephany because she loved that dog. Anyway, after her bath, Stephany put a leash on Bubbles and took her out to play in the yard. And it was time for Benjamin to have his bath.

But before Benjamin could have his bath, the step-mother placed the television over the bathtub. Benjamin got in, with his rubber ducky and his toy boat and his raft and his inflatable sex toy and his pet plunger and his stamp collection and his favorite bar of soap: Whitey Soapsworth the III. Then, as he scrubbed away at his ears with Whitey Soapsworth the III, the step-mother pushed the television at the bathtub. And she pushed and pushed and pushed, but it was a 32 inch television and it just wouldn't fit (they had a small tub) so she gave up.

Finally, after many years, the family grew old and died. All of them. Forget I even started this story. It really didn't have a decent ending. I do apologize for wasting your time.

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I have been accused in the past, not here, of allowing my immense ego to get in the way of the profitability of my ventures. Not here, as I said—usually just outside the pages of the commune. Not in the park, I mean, or my personal estate, except for in the office part. Usually, it happens inside the walls of the commune offices, from around 6 in the evening to 7 p.m. Okay, Gay says it. It's all Gay saying it. He has accused me of ego-centric management.

It was not meant as a compliment either, dear readers. Gay Bagel may be my beloved brother, but it's more than clear he has a personal ax to grind with me. He believes the internet is a place to make money—clearly he has not followed the internet news since 1997. He points to successful sites and asks, "Why can't we do that?" And usually he's talking about making money. Or he poses interesting questions, like, "How does selling Romanian dick growth pills interfere with our objective journalism?" I can't really answer questions like that. I laugh way too much. But it is plainly Gay's intention to take over the commune and make it his golden ticket to Willy Wonkaville. If that makes any sense. I guess you have to see the movie or read the book.

I have been trying to keep it under my hat, where I keep my Jolly Ranchers, but Gay and I have basically settled out of court. I have agreed to allow him on staff as the Ulterior Motive Manager, Class VII, under the condition he drop the lawsuit and he can keep 50% of any profit the commune shows under his guidance. I figured it was a done deal. He would get in here, become infatuated with the slack work ethic everyone else here has, and it would rub off. But he's not rubbing the right way. He's still 100% Gay, as far as I can tell.

He has been such a depressing presence in the office many members of the staff have taken to calling him "buzzkill," because of the way they want to cut him up with a rusty saw blade. The only one who gets along with him at all is Ramrod Hurley, and we all hate him. Even eternal wart on the commune's ass Raoul Dunkin has said it is no fun to work here since Gay came aboard. But then again, he said that day in-day out before Gay arrived, too. But now I believe he means it. So we have two problems: How do we get rid of Gay Bagel? And how do we keep him from reading about our plans to get rid of him while he's editing our columns?

Of course, when I say "edit" our columns, it's more like an honorary position, like Britney Spears' vocals on her own albums. We changed everything back to how we want it after he has made his changes, and I don't believe he's noticed. We still maintain some control of the office, since I have told him the monkey has the only other spare key, and I'm not about to wrestle it from his hands. But sooner or later Gay will think to ask for a duplicate of my own key, and he might be crazy enough to wrestle me for it. Sir, I am backed up against the wall, and not like Michael Douglas in that sexy movie.

At first, compromising the commune to settle things with Gay seemed like a good idea. That was before I realized I would have to do things in a way we were both agreeable to. I won't have it, sir, I won't. If it were up to Gay, we would check employee references, write only stories based on valid sources, and buy real office furniture instead of hiring non-English speaking people to fill those positions. In short, the entire fabric of the commune as you've come to know it will unravel.

I have only one real plan to defeat Gay's aims without complication: the commune readership must drop by at least 50%, so I can justify ousting his ass. So stop reading the commune—stop right now! And tell a friend to stop. If you have told a friend to read the commune before, tell them you were mistaken, it's not all it's cracked up to be. Our research is very poor and I'm not convinced Roland McShyster even watches those movies. It's entirely possible some of our income goes to support terrorism. It's not all that far-fetched, given the amount of drug use around here.

Any way you can help will be most appreciated, loyal reader.

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