The latest blockbuster National Enquirer breaking news exclusive concerns a pair of books called The Wizard of O. Apparently the first volume, My Life with Oprah: The L. Randolph Cook Interviews, is available now through a website and the second volume, The Truth Behind the Curtains, is soon to follow.
According to the Enquirer, the “Chicago businessman” says he had a “secret affair” with Oprah Winfrey beginning in 1984:
Cook, 51, also claims the media mogul taught him how to smoke crack cocaine, and the two “freebased” the drug regularly during their passionate six-month romance and the talk show titan “was still under the influence while doing her show.”
“And,” the Enquirer states, “court papers back up Cook’s shocking drug allegations about Oprah!”
I don’t think I’m going to be buying the latest Enquirer or Landis Randolph Cook’s “literary work.”
The video is really enough by itself. In it, Cook mentions suing Oprah way back in 1997. Meanwhile, the Enquirer tease says that “Cook recently has been diagnosed with esophageal cancer” and has “only two years to live.” He reportedly “blames Oprah for his problems,” and says in the video that he really believes from his heart and the depth of his soul that “it is time to bring closure to this pain,” and that he does not seek fame or fortune, only “sobriety and peace of mind.”
Never mind that the esophageal cancer motivation does not explain the lawsuit over 11 years ago. Never mind that a publicity campaign is probably the single least effective path to sobriety and peace of mind. Never mind that Cook suggests Oprah is suppressing his right to free speech although his video has been available for the world to watch for nearly a year and has attracted less than 3,200 views.
Even if Oprah did smoke crack and have sex with this guy back in the 1980s, it’s well past time for him to get over it. He talks about self-esteem and recovery, yet he’s been chasing this reckoning for 15 years and now fears he has only two more to live.
Randy, if Oprah won’t talk to you, take some advice from me: Let it go.
Free yourself. Pack up all your Oprah photos and notes and manuscripts and lawsuits, get into your Chevy convertible or whatever kind of car you have, and point it toward the nearest steel bridge. Stop thinking about the pleasure you once tasted; start thinking about all the time you’ve wasted.
Sure, you may be gone in 24 months — but right now, you’re alive.
Admittedly, it may be hard to go where you will never hear her name.