I promised myself I would ignore you.
I told myself not to be sucked in.
I reminded myself that you aren't worth the effort.
And yet here I am, sucked in again. Drawn into the morass that is your "cookbook".
|"Hahaha! What am I doing with this spoon? What's this goop on it? It's not GOOP. I want no part of it."|
Just fucking stop.
Seriously, Gwyneth. Just. Stop.
You're trying too hard.
Now, if you wanted to write a book about pretentious, over-privileged hack "actors", I could see why you'd be the perfect choice.
|Hmm . . . this smells like my elbow cream. What am I supposed to be pretending again? Oh, that's right. I'm a cook.|
|Water is delicious AND satisfying. Full of watery goodness!|
People are trying to maneuver you as the Next Martha Stewart. It's not going to happen. You know why? Because as autocratic and snobby as Martha is, she OWNS it. She's not trying to be "relatable", she's not pretending that her lifestyle is the same as every other busy working mom's.
|Also? She'll cut a bitch.|
|Oh no, no, no. I don't think so.|
|Not budget beer. Not by a long shot.|
Now, go back to your country music "career" and eat your macrobiotic diet and enjoy hunting humans on your estate. We wish you - well, not the best. We just wish you somewhere else.