That’s – thaT’S IMPOSSIBLE!
There is absolutely no way the woman that taught me how to make deep-fried lasagna and Twinkie pie has been diagnosed with a disease commonly associated with high-fat, high-sugar diets. I feel this news must be a joke, some elaborate ruse cooked up by some anti-Deen terrorists, designed to tint my day with the dark, fudgy, cream-filled and gravy-slathered hue of remorse.
If this news turns out to be true, I will sink in to a deep, profound sadness that will cause my eyes to tear, and those tears will drip down my face, curve down my not-usually-this-puffy-I-must-be-retaining-water cheeks, and on to my lips, where they shall gather together and form small, well-rounded balls of salty moisture as the Paula Deen-branded butter-flavored lip balm I wear on my lips refuses to absorb my tears out of protest. And also because it’s butter.
Paula Deen is a role model for people everywhere. In an age of fad diets and power cleansing, Mrs. Deen was brave enough to slice through all of the B.S. and reclaim the throne of food-based sanity. She is a role model, and her role model-ness shines through the down-home and soulful meals she creates not out of irony, but out of honesty. She is an artist with food. If I am lucky enough to have daughters at some point in my life, I will teach them how to act like a proper lady and I will do so my introducing them to Paula’s “Lady’s Brunch Burger,” which, with its fried egg, bacon, and ground beef all sandwiched between two glazed doughnuts, contains every lesson of lady-like behavior that mature and respectable women should be cramming in to their greasy gullets whenever hunger strikes in order to absorb its unctuous life lessons – lessons like, when and when not rip huge Lady’s Brunch Burger-induced farts in public, especially when you know it’s going to be uncontrollable and sloppy.
I outright refuse to believe this news, mostly because Mrs. Deen’s shining, perky disposition is really good at making me believe that things are going to be alright. And they will be, because the woman that taught me how to make deep-fried stuffing on a stick is and forever will be impervious to harm, especially from her own creations, like a veteran demolitions expert that somehow still has fingers. Similarly, everyone knows that when Dr. Frankenstein created his monster, they hugged it out, had a lovely picnic, and the story ended with the doctor and his creation living happily every after.