Dear Oprah,

Please stop Skyping.

I don’t watch your show to meet Jennifer from Oahu on her webcam. Once I’m done judging her home (.000023 seconds), I’ve got nothing left to do but judge her clothes, haircut and webcam quality. And if her husband’s sitting next to her, then I have to think about their relationship, and how she talked him into Skyping with Oprah, and then sometimes Jennifer isn’t from Oahu, she’s from Norway or Australia, and then I start thinking about time zones, and I’m wondering when Jennifer had to start getting ready to be on your show and if she’s eaten anything since she heard she’s going to be seen by the entire world and then I wonder if there are other Jennifers who got up at two in the morning to be on Oprah but they ran out of time, so they have to email blast everyone to say, “Hey! Just letting you know I won’t be on Oprah after all. Soo… I’m also probably not coming in today. Have a great week!” And then she sits alone in her dark, silent kitchen and cries for days.

The point is, Oprah, this show is about you. If I wanted to find out what people on webcams think about things, I’d open up my iChat. I know you think you’ve discovered the Internet, but the pixels and the time delays — it’s like some kind of public access show. Please, Oprah. No more Skyping. And please don’t multi-Skype anymore. That time you had twelve people on at once? It was like you’d invited us to a Sims seminar. Nobody knew when anybody was talking or what they were talking about or why. Iraq interrupting Africa; terminal cancer woman taking all of pretending-to-be-happy lady’s time. It was like we were all on a very awkward group date.

Look, I get it. Everybody has something to say. But you’re the only one we all want to listen to.

But please listen to this: No more Skyping.

Thank you.