Paula Deen Has Some Words for Regina George
October 5, 2011

paula deen mean girls regina george is butter a carb

And so Paula Deen decreed: YOU CAN’T SIT WITH US!

Much love to B. Lo for this one.

Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner’s Monster Mouth Corner: Eat a Donut Bacon Cheeseburger
March 29, 2010

Look, I’ve got nothing against all-natural produce, but we can’t always just eat an organic pear.  Sometimes we need something more.  Sometimes we need savory as well as sweet.  Sometimes we need throw caution to the wind and say, “Fuck it all: I’ll eat Cheerios and Lipitor the rest of this week if I must, but tonight I want to live!”  Sometimes, dear readers, we need to eat a donut bacon cheeseburger, which is precisely what I did this weekend.  Behold the epitome of gluttony and the pinnacle of modern culinary innovation, made by my own two hands:

donut bacon cheeseburger gloriousness

Now, having actually had the high-calorie, fatty food food equivalent of a gang bang, I can tell you the following things about the donut bacon cheeseburger with great certainty:

  1. Despite allegations otherwise, the donut bacon cheeseburger is not a sign of the apocalypse.  It is glorious.
  2. In fact, the donut bacon cheeseburger is so mind-blowingly scrumptious that I’d reckon this is the Harbinger of Deliciousness, a veritable Jesus Burger that has come from the heavens above to rid the world of size-zero pants and preach the gospel of elastic waistbands.
  3. My vision of Heaven is most likely the 9th circle of Hell for vegetarians.  In certain fundamentalist vegan Christian circles, I am now the front runner for the Antichrist.  I guess even the irresistible temptations of a donut bacon cheeseburger can’t win ’em all.

The rest of my experience is a bit more of a blur, so at this point we have to pause so you can decide if you want to take the donut bacon cheeseburger pill or the boring pill.  How far down this culinary rabbit hole of batshit insanity and morbid obesity do you want to go?  Oh, who am I kidding?  Red pill it is!

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Happy Birthday, Paula Deen!
January 19, 2010

It’s no secret over here at Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner that I love me some Paula Deen like Paula Deen loves herself some butter.  And while my holiday plans to visit my deep-fried mecca (The Lady and Sons) were ultimately foiled (curses to you, unnecessarily convoluted and ambiguous process by which one ensures a table at the Lady and Sons!), she remains the Julia to my Julie.  Sure, I may not be blogging about my experience cooking Paula Deen’s recipe oeuvre (I lack the requisite ambition/willingness to have a coronary before I’m 30), but I will gladly blog about this:

Sure, it may not be playing an instrumental role in bringing French cuisine into the American household, but Paula Deen once had really hot guys in tight shirts deliver her a giant bust made ENTIRELY OUT OF BUTTER.  AND THEN SHE KISSED IT.  Et tu, Mrs. Child?

Also, only Paula Deen is capable of the following culinary crazy train:

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As Per Popular Request, I’m Breaking My Silence Surrounding the Nation’s Most Heinous Tragedy of the Past Week
November 30, 2009

Popular request means a single comment from one of a close friend, right?  Whatever.  Point is, this is not funny, interwebs:

Would you LOL if someone dropped a rump roast on this basketful of adorable puppies?

Paula Deen getting hit in the face with a ham is obviously no different.  I recognize that comparing grievous puppy abuse and Paula Deen’s minor yet nevertheless embarrassing injury may sound hyperbolic or delusional, but I’m sure we can all agree that both things are essentially the worst.  After all, puppies–like Paula Dee–only enrich our lives with cuteness.  And/or heart attacks.  Neither has done anything to warrant such violence.

HOWEVER, please don’t think I’m some Negative Nancy incapable of finding humor in another person’s misfortune.  No no, I simply like to believe that getting beaned in the face is most hilarious when it doubles as sweet, sweet justice:

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Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner’s Thanksgiving List: Paula Deen Making a Turducken
November 25, 2009

Every Thanksgiving I always tell myself that this will be the Thanksgiving that I embrace the crazy and have a turducken instead of a mere turkey.  Seriously, the only thing better than turkey and stuffing on Thanksgiving is turkey and duck and chicken AND stuffing because, really, the only thing better than meat is more meat.  Every year, though, I always end up just going the less ridiculous route and just go with a regular turkey because the it’s simple.  And I’m lazy. 

Well, even though this Thanksgiving will be no different than any of my other turduckenless Thanksgivings, watching Paula Deen make a turducken is one step closer to living my ridicudream:

UGH.  Just thinking about the dreamalicious gravy I could make from one of these bad boys gets me 37 different sorts of uncontrollably excited.  You know, shakes, sweats, the usual.  This guy knows what I’m talking about:

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Calm It Down, Shep Smith. It’s Only a Krispy Kreme Cheeseburger
October 9, 2009

Now this is what I’m talking about:

krispykremeburger

Krispy Kreme Bacon Cheeseburgers.  Just beholding this heavenly beauty raises my cholesterol level threefold, and I mean that as a compliment.  I know that this is the sort of gastronomic nightmare that I could make from the comfort of my own home, but I can’t imagine it coming out half as delicious as the gutbombs in this picture look.  And it’s best I keep telling myself that for fear of actually making one.  One day I’m making Krispy Kreme Bacon Cheeseburgers, and the next day I’m freebasing them.  It’s a slippery slope like that.

Of course, one man’s paradise is another man’s Hell on Earth, and so it’s with great pleasure that I introduce to you Shep Smith, my arch-nemesis in all things scrumptious:

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Nothing Gets Done When You’re Craving Cookies
July 23, 2009

Faithful readers and fresh-off-the-blog-boaters, I must be honest: I’ve got a problem.  No, it’s not a love for the Sauce, nor is it for anything that could snorted (thank goodness) or shot into my veins (absolutely not).  No no, I’ve got a different sort of problem, and that problem’s name is Cookies.

cookie monster c'est moi

Really, if you put any form, no matter the shape, consistency, texture, or list of ingredients in front of me, I will snatch that shit away from you quicker than you can blink.  The only answer I know to the question “Would you like a cookie?” is “I’ll take three.”  The only  response I have to “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re out” is “BAKE MORE, WHORES!!!”  

When I’m not eating cookies, I’m thinking about eating cookies.  Seriously, I can’t even blog sometimes because all I’d would write would be this:

COOKIECOOKIECOOKIECOOKIECOOKIECOOKIECOOKIE COOKIECOOKIECOOKIECOOKIECOOKIECOOKIECOOKIE COOKIECOOKIECOOKIECOOKIECOOKIECOOKIECOOKIE COOKIECOOKIECOOKIECOOKIECOOKIECOOKIECOOKIE.

Even I don’t even find that compelling, and I’m the one thinking about pecan sandies at this very moment.  

And even when I am eating cookies, I’m thinking about eating other types of cookies, which I guess is sorta like imagining having sex with someone other than the person you’re having sex with, except I’m thinking about Double Stuf Oreos instead of Ryan Gosling.  It’s a problem, y’all.  

Now I know you probably think I’m totally making this up and that Cookie Addiction, like modern art and women’s rights, is just some bogus joke perpetrated by the bourgeois liberal elite.  Trust me, y’all, it’s a real problem, and it will destroy your family.  Just look at how it can ravage the mind:

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Is Sandra Lee is My New Favorite Food Lady?
July 17, 2009

Despite the fact that I’ve never met a meal I didn’t like (and I’ve even had the McDonald’s Filet-O-Fish, which probably says many a thing about my cast-iron stomach and my utter lack of any culinary sensibilities), I’m not a Food Network junkie.   This is particularly curious seeing as Food Network plays home to my Southern-fried soulmate, Paula Deen:

paula deen love

Seriously, this lady that advocates eating like heart-attacks are the new dogs-in-purses and speaks with an accent that’s thicker than sawmill gravy.  She’s completely crazy, but in the best way possible (i.e., with ample amounts of butter).  I was all but certain that my love for her could never be challenged, but–like the best laid schemes of mice and men–I had not anticipated witnessing the mind-altering brilliance that is this highly concentrated dose of Sandra Lee’s particular brand of insanity sauce:

Whoah-and-three-quarters, y’all.  Much of this video’s genius, admittedly, is in the editing.  It’s so perfectly executed that you begin to suspect that Sergei Eisenstein, the father of montage theory himself, would have kind words for the work displayed above.  That is, if he was still alive.  Or a zombie.

That all said, it doesn’t change the fact that Sandra Lee sounds like she might kill her parents with those incredible foodgasms she’s having.  Nor does it change the fact she really loves her cocktail time, and it certainly doesn’t change the fact the only thing she loves more than cocktail time is saying the world delicious.   Maybe I’m just gravitating to the magnetic pull of her feathered hair, or perhaps it’s something in the way that she says paprika, but all I know for certain is that she’s captivated the heart of this homo.  She’s giving Paula Deen a serious run in the favorite-food-lady department, and I think we know what this means:

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Sweet Mercy, Paula Deen is Reading My Mind
February 4, 2009

So I recognize that two posts into this whole blog thing and I’ve yet to talk about a single movie, which, for a movie review blog, likely constitutes as a FAIL.  Well, shut your face, ‘cos at least I’m posting a video at this point.  Baby steps, y’all.  Baby steps.

Holy Moses, it’s as though Paula Deen had crawled into my head, searched for my deepest, darkest desire, and then made it come true.  Some of my coworkers seemed to think that this is disgusting.  WRONG!  Is the brilliance of Michelango’s  Sistine Chapel disgusting?  No.  Is the triumph of artistry that is Showgirls disgusting?  No!  Is Paula Deen’s utopic taste-bud sensation disgusting?  NO!  Mix in some Worcestershire into those burgers and throw on a slice of Boar’s Head cheese and prepare to meet God.

I seriously think I will be trekking to Penn Station after work just to get my hands on some Krispy Kremes so I can make this symphony of worldly delights.  My wildest dreams have come true.

Thanks, Best Week Ever!

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