That Padma Entry

Padma Lakshmi...

How do I adequately convey my ardor for you short of killing innocent people in a ritualistic blood-sacrifice...?

(Answer me before it's too late!)

You must realize that you out-10 all 10s on the planet.

Yet there is a distinct sweetness in your visage.

Your utter prettiness is almost cartoonish. A caricature of a gorgeous girl. As if some artist deftly sketched some graphite lines on a page to compose something improbably beautiful. Beauty to the point of absurdity.

(Angelina pales beside you.)

Even that prominent scar along your arm (from a car accident in your youth) cannot detract from your stunning, goddesslike luminosity.

The scar enhances your perfect 10ness, Padma. Under hot lights, it glistens. It draws the eye, hinting at some secret, unknowable narrative.

In fact, I'll bet if your arms and legs were completely cut off—and I kept you safe in a box—you'd still be a perfect 10...!

Wouldn't you, Padma...?

Oh, you would.

(Trust me.)

And I would worship at your limbless altar as if you were the Patron Saint of Super Models. A dark, sexy, limbless Patron Saint of Super Models.

I don't actually watch Top Chef regularly, though I caught some of a marathon airing over the weekend. (Filipinos represent!)

To be honest, I mostly know you from internet pictures. And yet, I still feel like we have a strong bond that reaches beyond Google Image searches.

My heart is a cold and empty chamber; it is a poor gift.

So I give you my blog for one day.