Rachael Ray's Recipe For Christmas Madness

It’s not that I haven’t been warned- ever since I can remember, every year at Christmas I’ve heard reports on television warning me that if I wasn’t careful I might wake up and kill myself. And it’s true. Let’s face it, the most wonderful time of the year can be pretty depressing. So why, as we all sit on the knife edge of yuletide suicide, does Dunkin Donuts see fit to air 3,675 Rachael Ray commercials a day? After all (and it really may just be me here), nothing makes me want to ride the needle, eat a gun, take a nap on the bottom of a pool or kiss the front of a speeding bus more than watching a relentlessly cheerful chick babbling on about coffee every two minutes. Hmmm, delish.

There’s always been something annoying about this woman…I still can’t quite put my finger on it. Massive overexposure probably has a lot to do with it, but it’s more than that. I’ve never been drawn to happy, bubbly girls; give me a Goth tonelessly humming Marilyn Manson (redundant, I know) with tears streaming down her face and smearing her mascara any day. Now, that’s my idea of a woman. Life stinks and I want a girl who knows it. To be fair, I realize that life more than likely most definitely doesn’t stink at all for Rachael Ray. She’s rich, she’s famous and a lot of married men wish it was her they were married to rather than what they actually ended up with. But if I had to take a homemaker, give me an admitted hard assed bitch like Martha Stewart. A young Martha Stewart I mean, not the sixty something version. I’m old, but not that old yet.

In the far distant past, like a month ago, it was possible to pretty much avoid Rachael Ray if you tried hard enough- don’t watch the cooking channels and keep your eyes on your shoes anywhere around the magazine racks at supermarket checkout lines (which is also sound advice if you don’t want to see Paris Hilton, Brittney Spears, Jennifer Aniston, or any of the thousands of other rich women who’d never give you the time of day if you actually ever met them, even if they were as stoned as Britney or as stupid as Paris- trust me, none of them are that stupid and to be frank, there aren’t enough drugs in the world to make any of them want to be with you, or me for that matter.) and that was fine. It’s not that I’m against Rachael Ray or anything; you want her, fine, take her. But I’ve always looked at Rachael Ray as sort of the culinary equivalent of anal sex- it’s great if you like that sort of thing, but don’t force it on me and for God’s sake certainly not every five minutes. I mean, that’s why I’ve scrupulously obeyed the law and stayed out of prison all these years.

Now, I know a lot of people like Rachael Ray, and God bless you all. Well, not really; to be honest I couldn’t care less about any of you, but I’m trying to make this piece five hundred words and you have no idea how many words insincere platitudes can eat up. Anyway, my point is, I shouldn’t have to stop watching Court TV because you all are in love with this chick. Add to that the fact that at this point I’ve hit 578 words and I’m done.