Dear Oprah:

I need some cash. Daycare is expensive as are hospital bills and our dumb dog got hurt and so there are now vet bills and the house isn’t getting paid off for about 26 years and I have a Pier One credit card bill (who has a Pier One credit card?! Me.) because Christmas made me insane and I had to go and buy little smelly candles for my friends and did you know they charge extra for gift boxes?

I know you’re not in the habit of just handing out money these days but I think I know a way we can help each other out. I will come on your show and confess some secrets.

Don’t tell me that Lance Armstrong came to you to confess that he started doping just because he likes you and wanted to get a few things off his chest. You paid him some big bucks, bucks he’s probably going to be hurting for now that people suddenly realize that those yellow bracelets don’t really go with their outfits.

So, gimme. Give me some money. I will come on your network and admit to all sorts of shameful things that I guarantee will get you some viewers. The price is negotiable but let’s start at maybe a million? You know that’s nothing to you and is peanuts compared to what you paid Lance.

To whet your whistle, here are some things I am ready to confess to:

• Leading an extensive, sophisticated doping ring among the blogosphere. Did the public really believe that my friends and I were able of consistently putting out such thoughtful, engaging content without some chemical assistance? No, we’re all ‘roided up. That’s why bloggers have such bad acne and tiny testicles.
• That my marriage to my husband is one of convenience, in order to gain acceptance in the public domain. In actuality, all those times I’ve said “I love cheese so much I could marry it,” I was being serious. I am in a common law marriage with a wedge of brie but due to discriminatory marriage laws, I am forced to be married to a human male in order to gain social acceptance. There, are you happy now?
• That I claim to be 5’4 but am really 5’3 and a half. And also I weigh, as of press time, exactly 26 more pounds in real life than is listed on my driver’s license.
• That I kiss the cat on the mouth.

I also promise to be:

• thoughtful
• forthright (I won’t avoid any questions unless you want to agree ahead of time that I will put forth the impression of avoiding one to two questions that we will agree upon ahead of time).
• serious
• contrite as hell

I will be so contrite! I will cry and grimace and even get down on my knees. But this will of course cost extra. All this honesty and desire for forgiveness ain’t free. What do you think this is, church? Confessing gratis is only for suckers or for people who don’t need cash.