Where Me Reprint Deal?

Written by Cookie
Thursday, 13 September 2007 10:43

 

Me see where many local luminaries cashing in on two-year Katrina anniversary. Josh Clark publish Katrina memoir about barbecuing next to swimming pool behind secured fence. (Me not given security code.) Ken Foster get to drop piece in national media outlet about horrors of fielding phone calls from national media outlets. Even NOLAFugees editors get shit together to drop second book.

It depressing. Everyone around me finding groove. Perhaps that why when given opportunity to whore on “Oprah” me overstep bounds.

It sad to recount, but summer not treat me well. Pills, soured relationships, too many hours at Harrah’s Casino losing ass at Pai Gow . It get to where putting pen to paper too much effort. It much easier to flip on tube and watch “Atlantic City Hookers” on HBO. (Repeated viewings are rewarded.)

Then me get call from Oprah’s people asking to go on show to talk about what it like to be wretched society columnist in ruined city. “A Million Little Pieces” author James Frey hook me up with gig. Jim and me go back to days in Minnesota rehab center where we’d top each other with tales of narcotics consumption. Me always tell truth.

Me beg “Oprah” segment producer to let me shill me book, “Chris Rose Dead 2 Me ,” since it now merely a rare collector’s item (**Ed's Note:  this book is very much available- just click on link). Me feeling is it important historical document, as it chronicles me dizzying post-Katrina days chasing free drink and society bitches. But producer say me forbidden to mention book, that Oprah only concerned with me status as wretched society columnist. Me forced to comply, as me not want to jeopardize chance to attend Barack Obama’s inaugural ball.

Interview go well at first. Me open up to Oprah in ways me haven’t done since Tennessee Williams Fest Bitch Karissa Kary leave me to globe-hop with Latino paramour. Me not afraid to admit me shed tear. Oprah have matronly way. It like she trying to breast feed entire world.

Then Oprah want to ask me about me comrades, me fellow wretched society columnists. Me mention Chris Rose , his troubled times, how depression make him lapse into thousand-yard stare. Me empathize, but me tell Oprah that me not want to talk about Rose, that Chris Rose dead to me.

Segment producer yells “Cut!” and next thing me know me in alleyway behind Harpo studios.

Fuck it all to hell! Me entrapped! And me so close to getting me cash-in moment so me can tell NOLAFugees editors to piss into bullet hole. Worse still, Rose get to republish book with New York pubiisher. It the same shit he write two years ago! Where me reprint deal?

 

 

But me say screw it. Me not going to let disappointment get me down. Me determined to get back out there, maybe take in upcoming Fleur de Tease shows. Cure for thousand yard stare is to put face into crotch of Trixie Minx . Plus new NFL season underway, and Fair Grounds open in November. Luck bound to change, maybe even at Pai Gow table.

 

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