A Shocking Realization; or Nude Chris Daughtry Trumps Accupuncture

Every Wednesday and Thursday morning, my weblog is inundated with a relatively large onslaught of visitors. A cursory glance reveals that 99% of these visitors are fresh off of Fox and hungry for some nude You-Know-Who. This fact has, of course, already been discussed. What has been less discussed is that my special Visitor Recording Device shows that some of them find their way to this site and then stick around, sometimes leafing through 6 or more pages.

And this is where it gets sad, because somewhere along the line I got it into my head that perhaps these blue-balled McPhee-o-philes were able to place their sizzling hormones on the back burner, quickly recognizing the meritous and thought-provoking nature of my online endeavor and happily choosing to assuage their burgeoning curiosity about same-sex nuptials over their originally intended yen for nubile Photoshopped flesh.

Then, just five minutes ago, the lightbulb over my head flickered on with a rusty creak, and it occured to me: they're not thumbing through my blog because they want to see how the mind of a gay man ticks or find out how it all ends, they're doing it because the painfully blinding testosterone coursing through their sleep-deprived eyeballs has made them certain - - absolutely certain - - that somewhere, somehow, if they can just get past all the chicken pots standing in the way, there has got to be a nude picture of Her hidden amongst the pots and pans and slicers and dicers, because Google and Yahoo and Altavista have deemed it so.

To which I say: keep reading, all you dirty basement uncles and 3am WebTV sixteen year-olds. For if Nude Katharine McPhee is satisfaction, and satsifaction leads to enlightenment, and enlightenment to nirvana, then I've got your fix.

***

In other news, I got a free acupuncture session today - - my first ever - - and, aside from the slight burning in my ears and the awkwardness of laying on an examining table at my place of work, barefoot and unbuttoned, it was remarkably relaxing. My acupuncturist-in-training even shared some insights on my relationship with my father merely by looking at my tongue, and could tell I had good kidneys (I do!) just by checking my pulse.

And if that doesn't beat nude songstresses who should have been kicked off last night but weren't, then I don't know what does.

Speaking of which, how come nobody's getting on here by searching for Nude Chris Daughtry? Because Nude Chris Daughtry is something I would sell my proverbial chicken pot to see.