Hey y'all. Guess y'all heard the news. I'm sorta busted up. Turns out we picked up a nasty case of the diabeetus. I just wanted to reach out to all my fans out there and give an update on my current medical status. Well, it's a slow go y'all, but I'm on my meds and feeling much better.

The way I understand it, y'all is this - Paula's body is hollerin' for some insulin but there's like a giant wall of gunk standing betwixt me and that signal. I'm just not gettin' that message, y'all. This is just a theory of mine but I think it's related to an intrinsic membrane glycoprotein and serine exopeptidase that cleaves X-proline dipeptides from the N-terminus of polypeptides. Y'all.

But can y'all believe the scandal we've gotten ourselves embroiled in? My word, y'all. Some people can be so mean. Even I started gettin' hate mail! What did I do? No, Ms. whatever-your-hyphenated-name-is from Kansas City, Missouri! I am certainly not a role model. I am just a pancreas. And a wounded one at that!

She cries y'all. Late at night I can hear Paula crying tears of sweet butter.

I know it looks bad. Paula kept that little secret bottled up for three years.  Her cookbooks meanwhile were selling like hotcakes wrapped in watermelon taffy and deep-fried in gasoline. As long as I kept my Langerhans shut, I too would benefit from the riches of unhealthy eatin'. So that's just what I did. I said nothin'.  Things got extra messy when she decided to become a paid spokesperson for a diabeetus drug.  This rankled Paula's PR person and she up and left and even Paula's boys were fit to be tied. The whole thing got ugly fast, y'all. As you might imagine, some people had a beef.

Ooh. Speaking of beef.  Y'all ever have Paula's Lady's Brunch Burger? Heaven on a dish is what it is y'all. Take a burger patty, slap some bacon on it, some fried eggs and stick all that between two glorious glazed donuts. I'm delirious just talkin' about it.

Oh my God, y'all. Sometimes the stomach lining above me will spring a most fortuitous leak and I proceed to lap up those grease drippings like an old blood hound, y'all.

But seriously, y'all.  Does anyone really want to see Paula Deen on TV steamin' a pot of spinach in light canola oil? Is that what the public wants? The only time I want to see Paula with a box of frozen veggies is if she's using it to knock out a warthog before sticking it in a deep fryer and coatin' it with powdered sugar.

The bottom line is this, y'all. Paula doesn't force anyone to eat anything. Well, that is, aside from her Shih-Tzu Beau Deen, who dines on country fried Twinkies and caramelized Elk fat.

If y'all don't want to eat it, then don't eat it.

But if you do want to eat it, y'all. (And I know you do). There's good news.

There is no reason whatsoever to deny yourself Paula's decadent dishes. Dang it, y'all. You work hard. You deserve it. It would be a sin not to delight in the gift my girl has been given.

I've been hearing funny words lately like "fitness" and "moderation." Now I don't know what those fancy words mean, y'all, but I say eat as much of these guilty pleasures as you want. Why on Earth do you think God invented diabetes pills, y'all?

Shoot y'all! Is that stuffing on a stick I smell? I gotta go!

Warmly,

Eileen