Paula Deen Part 2: Now Fortified with Vitamin B YAWULL!

That's right. So scary she demanded a second post.

Once again as I was channel surfing in the comfort of my Swedish Tempurpedic bed, I couldn't help but stop and be captivated by this train wreck. And I'm talking a C-4 fronted silver bullet through a gas-tanker that has already exploded on a playpen of puppies and kittens and babies and rainbows train wreck. Apparently she's been awarded another show on the Food Network in which she hosts some kind of dinner/cult party. How? I have no idea, I figure somebody lost a bet, died or was eaten.

She was choking up some speech about taking care of yourself, and in consternation I wondered if I was right... Maybe she had accidentally eaten someone close to her. On and on she went about taking care of your health, how she and her Santa-like hubby had quit smoking, and how this show was dedicated to "Vitamin B." Even the audience was confused at this point, and I knew something wasn't right. We had walked right in to a culinary ambush, but it was too late. "Oh no..." I thought to myself, "Sweet lord, she's talking about butter..."

"I'm talkin 'bout BUTTER YAWULL!"

*AUDIENCE CHUCKLES AND APPLAUDS*

*I CRY, BUT ODDLY AROUSED, CAN'T LOOK AWAY*

At this point my tongue had migrated back towards my tonsils in an attempt to strangle myself from within, but to no avail. She had us all completely fooled and was now moving in for the kill. What came next was so perverse that it fused through my retinas to permanently tattoo itself to the frontal lobes of my long term memory. Four shirtless barbarians entered the room carrying a massive rectangular mass of butter high aloft their shoulders on a stretcher. An Ark of the Butter-nant if you will. Paula carved out a chunk close to her body weight, and sent them back on their merry way while making some joke about her non-existent sexuality. Whether she was talking to the men or the butter, we'll never know. To her credit, the recipes she made did contain a large amount of butter: Fettucine Alfredo, Deep Fried Butter Sticks in Butter-Gravy, Butterpad Ravioli in Butter Sauce, and a light, refreshing spring-time cocktail of Butter-rum Julips.

After spending the next 30 minutes of life in shame, repenting of the sins I had just witnessed, I realized that the opening credits for this show were rolling again. That's right, the train was backing up for another pass at whatever flaming puppies/kittens/babies/rainbows it might have missed the first time around. Show number two was about to begin, and once again I was mesmerized.

First on the menu was deep fried alligator. "Dredge it the buttermilk, yawull, then the flower yawull, then the buttermilk again yawull, then the flower again yawull, then you fry it!" At least I think that was the order. I thought maybe "vomit" was one of the steps, but that could have just been something I added inbetween. Really, chicken is so plentiful these days, why go to the trouble of slaughtering your own alligator just to try a recipe? The goal is to taste like chicken right? So just go straight to the source. I dunno, maybe I'm just old-fashioned that way with all this logic and common sense. But she was about to defy all decency once again.

I literally watched in horror as she cut out squares of cold macaroni and cheese from a casserole dish, and proceeded to bread and deep fry them. What made it even worse were the skinny people all around her tasting this fecal excrement to utter delight. That was the final straw. I had to take a shower to scrub the yucky feeling out of me. Just thinking of it sends a shiver down my spine.

For the love of all that is blessedly sacred, DO NOT ENCOURAGE THIS WOMAN. That plump, lush husband of hers would be screaming in arterial pain right now had his nerves not been so dulled by the diabeetis.