Raggaydy Andy Responds: No Chlamydia On MY Watch

Well, possums, we just knew Raggaydy Andy wasn't the type to take it lying down.

Pushed against the wall--by yesterday's article in New York-- Raggaydy Andy took to his blog today to set things straight.

And we have to give him credit, because he found the article "pretty good and fair." Well, except for the part where, as we mentioned yesterday, the author revealed that cheftestants are prohibited from having sex with each other for fear that the seafood sausage may include more than one kind of crab. The only open sore Bravo wants to deal with, it seems, is Paula Abdul.

It's a policy that Raggaydy Andy stands ever so, so firmly behind. As he puts it,

"I feel pretty great that under our watch, you ain't allowed to 'do it' with another contestant. We're not the 'Real World' and we're not checking for STD's and we're just not in that game. If Tabs [Shear Design contestant Tabatha] gets herpes from another hairstylist that I helped cast, how am I gonna sleep at night!? Design all the dresses you want, but screw on your own clock. Or sign up to be on 'Temptation Island'."

Well, there goes our chance of another reality-show shower spanking in Miami, though we must say, they're coming awfully close to temptation, what with a hot tub and bikinis and booze. (And just out of curiosity, how can they prevent hooking up? If the cheftestants are left unsupervised and unfilmed after lights out--wasn't there a little after-hours head-shaving and misdemeanor battery at some point in the past?--how on earth can Bravo "Watch What Happens"? Inquiring minds want to know.

Cookus Interruptus: Amuse-Biatch Looks Back More in Sorrow Than in Anger

Possums, have you ever been on a bad date?

Let's say you go out with someone and they invite you back to their apartment (pardon our use of the third-person plural pronoun, but we're trying to make this universal).

You kiss for a little bit, and the first kiss turns out to be good.

Subsequent kisses, however, turn out to be bland and boring, and you find yourself looking at your watch behind their head as you kiss.

Then the boring kissing is interrupted while they take a "break." And then they come back, and the kissing resumes, and gets a tad better.

And then the kissing stops again, because your date pulls out their photo album and insists you sit on the couch with them and look at their stupid vacation photos and talk about what a great person your date is.

What would you do at this point, possums? Would you stay in the hopes that the kissing would resume and get better once the damned photo album got put away, and, heck, maybe even get to second base? Or would you decide it wasn't worth it, walk out, go home and take matters into your own hands, as it were?

That's exactly how we felt last night watching "Watch What Happens" (though we weren't nearly as angry as New York Magazine restaurant critic Adam Platt, who referred to Raggaydy Andy as "the goofball in the tan suit," which might make a nice companion piece to The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit).

We fail utterly to see the purpose of this reunion special. We're not against reunion specials as a rule; neither do we insist that they turn into drunken free-for-alls. But reunion specials logically take place at the end of the season. This one had a whiff of last-minute scrambling, and not in the Mickey-and-Judy, hey-kids-let's-put-on-a-show way. Our best guess is that something must have happened. Perhaps Bravo simply needed more time to edit some oomph into the remaining episodes, and to prepare for the shooting of the live finale in Aspen, Colorado.

At least that's what we hope. We'd hate to think it was just sheer idiocy on their part (though that cry-for-euthanasia that is Paula Abdul's show certainly begs the question, They shoot horse's asses, don't they?)

Hey, Paula, er, Bravo, watch what happens when you fuck with your audience.