This is Paula Deen. It’s been one week since my last confession.
I want to apologize for the millionth time from the bottom of my inflated southern heart for uttering that word - you know the one I’m speaking of - not because I regret saying it but because I don’t want to lose my TV Show and book deal and lucrative endorsements. If everyone writes their senators and governors and mayors and Sarah Palin I am 100% positive I can get my southern droopy creepy ass back on TV where it rightfully belongs.
A few years ago I never disclosed my health and diabetes issues, but wouldn’t you have done the same thing? If I told the world to heed my doctor’s advice and stop eating the heart clogging crap I’ve been forcing down the throats of y’all I would’ve lost my fortune and my fame. My ego craves fortune and fame. That’s what makes my southern charm glow and my girl parts tingle.
Oh yes, yes, yes... My accent gets more pronounced with every million dollars I make, y’all.
When I said that word I meant what I said when I said it. But I never meant it to be hurtful. It’s just a word, an expression I’ve been using for years. And I’m not going to stop. I yelled it out my window last night when someone cut me off in traffic.
Now I know what you’re thinking. You think underneath my pretty southern exterior lies a trashy hateful mean old lady racist bitch. I’m not that old!
Let’s bury the bad publicity and go make some deep fried corn dogs, deep friend cheese balls, deep fried turkey breasts, deep fried dog biscuits, and end our southern deep fried meal with some deep fried faux humble pie (wink wink) and a side of deep fried ice cream. (Of course mine will end with a double shot of insulin.)
Rest assured, as sugar is my witness, this Southern Goddess will rise again!
Love and hugs,
Paula Deen
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