Okay, I’m not actually crazy like that. I know that shaving my initials into her dog’s side was illegal, and I know that waiting for her in the back seat of her car and having her drive me to another parking garage and give me the stockings right off her legs–well, that was technically kidnapping, and that’s wrong.

Ack. I can’t stop this zany and *hilarious* joke. Who doesn’t want to marry Robin Meade? And who wouldn’t want a pair of her stockings? And frankly, I’d get a lot of pleasure out of tying her up–but only if she really wanted me to and had as much fun as I did in the process. So let’s straighten that out.

Really I wish there were more pics of Robin out there. I’ve only found three or four non-screengrabs. She should definitely pose for Maxim or one of the quality sexy-but-not-filthy magazines, preferably in her trademark attire–and I speak, quite naturally, of those shiny or at least glossy calf-tight, high-heeled boots she shows off all fall and winter and at least one day a week even in the hot weather. All joking aside, I LOVE Robin in her ultra mega sexy boots; as a leg fan (but also a guy who can appreciate a perfect bust like hers) I fantasize constantly about zipping the boots off her perfect legs and giving her a thorough foot massage.

In short, I am in love with Robin Meade, who outdoes every sex symbol/model/singer/actress/performer of any kind with her natural born sexiness and beauty, And I’d love to come across a decent photo gallery of her online, wouldn’t you?

Thank you for taking the time to read my semi-coherent blatherings. All that stalker stuff was my lame attempt to be funny; all I want from Robin Meade, besides the chance to administer that foot massage, is the day’s news read in her pleasing voice and a few long shots of her turning her ankle as she crosses those five-star legs and small feminine feet in explosively hot stiletto heels or stiletto boots. She is ust too HOT for words.