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So Many Disappointed People!

Well, that’s kind of a kick in the ass.

I woke up this morning to find droves — nay, hordes — of people lining up to peep the site. By nine am, there were more here than I get in a typical day. Very exciting.

Except… when I checked the server logs, I found that the vast majority — maybe that’s ‘hordejority’, no? — were only looking for FHM pics of Rachel Ray. Which I mentioned, and linked to, in this post, wherein I waffled back and forth between gaping at her piccies and cowering in fear at her enormous yapper.

(And for anyone who’s not aware of the slang here, ‘yapper’ means mouth. This was ‘FHM‘, people, not ‘Celebrity Chef Beaver Circus‘.

Although, really — aren’t we just about up to that point, as a society? I would so buy a copy of that. Just don’t tell Barefoot Contessa. Yeeks.)

Anyway, needless to say, I was disappointed. But not nearly so disappointed as everyone who showed up, clicked through, and found that — oops! — FHM must have archived those pics. Not there any more. Damn.

(Hey, but don’t fret, people. They’re still out there somewhere — like right here, see?

Yeah. Let that guy have some of the traffic for a while. My hit counter is getting tired.)

So, there you go. If you’re just here for the cooking cutie, then hop through that last link and get your culinary freak on. Otherwise, stick around and have a read. You won’t learn anything, particularly — but maybe it’ll get your mind off the fact that you’re trolling blogs looking for non-naked cooking show chicks who could literally bite you in half, but wouldn’t give you the time of day. Man… it makes it sounds so cheap when I put it like that, doesn’t it?

Oh, and before I go — you may not learn anything around here, but I can still share something that I learned, over the weekend. I accidentally, but very precisely, measured my own IQ over the past 48 hours or so. Here’s what I found:

I am, apparently, dumb enough to attempt to cut my own hair. I am, however, smart enough to know that I now need to wear a hat to work for the next three weeks.

Boy, the things we find out about ourselves, eh? All right, enough of that — get back to your cooking show wank-fantasies, people. Me and my bad haircut are out.