First off, Mr. Mad Scientist, thank you for calling off the dogs and allowing me into your top-secret foodporn lair. But was the billy club to the head, chloroform-laced burlap sack, and iron maiden full of tranquilizer darts really necessary?
Oh, of course it was! After all, nobody needs know where I do my work. They only must know that the work is done, and that it is oh-so-delicious and oh-so-shareable.
Well, that is certainly is. Though it is a little jarring to receive these constant, sometimes several-times-a-minute reminders that, no matter how many lunges and crunches and burpees and hot yoga we do, we are all so, so incredibly fat.
Good science is rarely comfortable, my fine, drugged-out friend.