PIEFOLK

Here’s some things people have sent me.  Pics.  Advice questions.  Random stuff…

Thanks for your letter, Jamare.

So, listen, I’m really glad you met someone who you had fun with, and enjoyed.  It’s pretty clear from what you’re saying that he’s in ‘rebound’ mode.  Best thing to do is what you’ve done already.  If you like him, just be there for him.  Enjoy your role in all this – you can be the guy he draws close to as he mourns the loss of his relationship.

I think it can be nice to be someone’s rebound relationship.  Especially if you know the score.  If you don’t expect the relationship to last, you can really enjoy it for what it is – just two people connecting for as long as they can.

You asked me if love is something you can stop doing.  Yes.  And also, no.

Love is a choice.  Falling in love may seem haphazard and chemical, and maybe it is, but staying in love is a choice.

Even so, my advice to you is just have fun with this guy.  You just met him.  You have no idea how this will play out.

Have fun, and try to respect each other.

xoxoxoxoxo,

Piefolk

Dear Piefolk

After browsing your website I have become obsessed with pies which for me is not normal. I keep a typical Episcopalian diet of gin, unsalted saltines and live. In the last week or so, I have had at least two pies and may have done the unthinkable and used bay leaves in a recipe even though they cause death. I was wondering if you could shed some light into my predicament. I can’t decide if I have suffered some sort of tramatic brain injury or if maybe I am so enthralled with the way you look naked in an apron that I have thrown off my beige food oppression. Any inform would be helpful.

Sincerely

Scooter

Scooter,

Now THIS is the type of letter I like to receive.  Bat-shit crazy and full of compliments.  Are you an ex of mine, or what?  So, it seems like you might be asking me if I think you’ve caused permanant brain damage with bay leaves.  Clearly you have. Did you notice how your letter to me didn’t make sense?  That’s the first tip-off.

Be wary.  I’m pretty sure bay leaves are a fine spice for plenty of foods. I don’t think they ’cause death.’  You might have taken some actual toxin.  Or maybe you is crazy.  Is you crazy?

xoxoxoxoxo,

Piefolk

Someone sent me this image:

Hey someone – THIS IS IT!!!  That’s how you make my day.  Send an image like this. I mean, woof, Jesus Christ.  Can I get a date, or what?

Damn kid.  This is great.  Thanks for tuning in…

Thanks everyone for writing in.  Thank you.

This makes me so happy.  Please enjoy my happiness, Jerks.

Where were we?

Ah yes.  Rommie and I were talking about being angry young homosexuals.

And we were making banana bread.

Him:  I don’t see why everyone is so fixated on MARRIAGE.

Me:  Seriously?  You don’t?

Him:  I don’t.  No.  We should focus on banning marriage altogether.  We should focus on economic equality for everyone, and universal health care.

Me:  You don’t want marriage equality?

Him:  I don’t want to get married.

Me:  Neither do I.  Marriage equality isn’t about getting married.

Him:  I just think there’s more that’s wrong with the world.

Me:  But it’s a CIVIL RIGHT being denied us.  Hold on.  You look really good.  Let me get a shot of that.

Him:  You said that you hated Straight people before.

Me:  I don’t.  But they hate us.

Him:  Do they?  I have a lot of wonderful relationships with a lot of wonderful people.  Some of them are even Straight.

Me: I know.  Some of my best friends are Straight.

Him:  So what about them makes you so angry?

Me:  Why is everyone asking me why I’m angry about this?  Why is everyone not FURIOUS?  Why is there no rioting in the streets?  The fact that we condescend to ask for what is rightfully ours…  The fact that Straight people patronize us with debate on the subject, as if it’s not obvious that they’ve created a second class of citizen. The fact that my brothers don’t burn down the courthouses that make the laws against them…  That there’s no riot.  There’s no Dr. King for us.  No Rosa Parks.  No Malcolm.

The fact that we let them shame us into lives of repression –  Why do you think homosexuals are frequently clean cut? Impeccably dressed?  Why are they such over achievers?   Why do so many homosexuals keep their houses obsessively spotless?  Because they know that straight people are disgusted by them.  And on some level, leading that clean, spotless life is them asking straight people to please pardon the horrible offense of being queer.  And that’s when racism, bigotry, misogyny, homophobia – that’s when it’s MOST EFFECTIVE.  If you can get the gays to hate themselves, then 75% of  your work is DONE.  They’ll do the subjugation for you!

Do you know why it was illegal for blacks to drink out of white people’s water fountains in the South?  Because white people found them way too disgusting to actually drink from the same tap.  They didn’t want them corrupting their fresh water source with their dirty other-ness.  The same thing is true for marriage equality.  It is the ‘Whites Only’ water fountain of our day.  They don’t want us drinking from their fountain.  It’s not the same thing exactly, but it’s philosophically the same principal.

How can they claim we are working against the structure of family, and not grant us access to the institution of marriage, that family is based on?

Why?  Why don’t we riot?  Why do we continue to move to the back of the bus?  Because they told us to be ashamed of ourselves.  And we listened.  That’s why I’m angry.  That’s why I’m disgusted.  The very nerve of them – making us ask OVER AND OVER AGAIN for what is obviously already ours.  How dare they?

Him:  You don’t have to get married to have a family.

Me: I know that. I don’t want to get married.  But you make me equal to everyone else…

Him:  AND THEN WHAT?  WHAT ABOUT TRANNIES?  WHAT ABOUT DENYING JOBS TO PEOPLE OR FIRING THEM BECAUSE THEY TURNED THEIR DICK INTO A PUSSY????  WILL YOU FADE INTO THE BACKGROUND ONCE YOU GET YOUR RIGHTS?  WHAT ABOUT FAIRNESS FOR EVERYONE???

Me:  Hey.  Hey.  I like Trans-gendered people too.  I think they’re also a subjugated minority.  They are our brothers and sisters.  But that’s not what I’m angry about .  I’m a homosexual.   I’m first and foremost angry about my own subjugation.  Maybe that’s part of the problem.  Maybe you’re right.

Me:  They all do it.

Him:  Do what?

Me:  Sex.  In the butt.  They all do it.  Straight people.

Him:  They do?

Me:  There are two types of people in the world.  Those who have anal sex…

Him:  And those who lie about not having anal sex.

Me: Bingo.

Him:  Do you feel better?

Me:  About my anger?

Him:  Yeah.

Me:  Maybe.  I vented some of it.

Him:  Why do you go on so many bad dates?

Me:  I think people are bad at dating.  Homosexuals especially.  They’re ashamed of themselves, and they forget to do things like, be generous, kind, compassionate….  Oh, wait.  Sorry this was a bad date.  I went on a tirade there for a second.

Him:  But you also made me feel welcome and attractive.

Me:  I did?

Him:  You did.

Me:  How would you rank this, as far as dates go?

Him: 9 of 10?

Me: Really.

Him:  Yeah.

Me:  Why’s it so hard?  Why can’t people just be good at dating?

(pause)

I don’t want Trannies to get fired for being Trannies.

Him: Good.

(pause)

Me: Enjoy the banana bread…

Both:  Jerk.  Jinx!  Buy me a Diet Coke.

Him:  You can kiss me again.

Me: sadf;lkasdf;lsdkfjas;dlkfjsda;flkjsd;lkjafsd;lkjsdf Why thank you.

This is Rommie.  He’s a friend of mine.  He’s been following the site and he wanted to come over and bake with me.  I said yes.  I haven’t seen him since August of last year.  That’s how New York is.  You can be friends with someone, and talk to them online all the time, but NEVER SEE THEM.  I suppose, arguably, that’s how the World is now.  Isn’t that sad?  Or not?  At least, now, we get to chat with people more often.

He only had three hours, so we baked fast.  Banana Bread.  A pie can take 4 or 5 hours.  Banana Bread you can get done in an hour and a half.  He was hosting a party that night, at 11pm.  He came over around 8:30.

He was a charming guest.  Really convivial, and kind.  Coy at the right moments, and forthright at other times.  Really charming.  Did I say he was charming?  He was.  Charming, that is.

HOWEVER.

He didn’t invite me to his party.  He kept mentioning it, but never invited me.  What a dummy, right?

I mean.  I would have sung a song in an apron.  Had he invited me.  Then again.  Maybe it wasn’t an apron only, pie-weirdo type of party.  Who knows?  Maybe it was some cool ass, east village-y, liberal queer type of party.  I don’t fit in at those types of parties, even though you’d expect me to.  I can’t deal with all the jargon.  I’m supposed to know what hetero-normative means, and whether that’s good or bad, depending on context.  No, thanks.

In any case.  Amidst all the baking, and talking about how there was going to be a party, and not inviting me to a party, we started talking about Politics.  Oh.  No.  NO.  Politics?

Aren’t you supposed to be baking sexy pies?

I KNOW! RIGHT?

We did that, too.  We baked sexy pies.  But more than that, we talked about how angry we are:

Him:  This is fun.

Me:  Isn’t it?  You’re really beautiful and charming.

Him:  Thank you.  You’re a good date too.

Me:  Thank you.

Him:  Look at us.

Me:  I know usually gays can’t quite manage to be charming good dates to one another.

Him:  Hahaha.  That’s true.  Why do you think that is?

Me:  Because they talked us into hating ourselves, and therefore, each other.

Him:  WHAT?

Me:  Straight people.  They talked us into hating ourselves.  They didn’t do it on purpose.  It’s not intentional.  But they talked us into feeling ashamed of ourselves and our lives.  That’s why we’re so quick to judge each other.  That’s why it’s hard to have a date with each other.  You look pretty.

Him:  Thank you, so do you.  Really attractive.

Me: No.  It’s just chemistry.  We like each other and it’s chemistry.

Him: No.  You’re cute.  I’m pretty sure.

Me:  I need to learn to take a compliment.  So sure.  Okay.  I’m cute.  But you’re beautiful and I already said that and I’ll shut up now.

Him:  You were talking about Straight people.

Me: Ugh.  I hate them.

Him:  Really?  Do you hate your brothers?

Me: No.

Him:  Do you hate the rest of your straight family?

Me:  No.  I love them.

Him:  Do you hate the rest of your straight comedy friends?

Me: I hate ALL my comedy friends.  Problem is, they’re just like me and and I love them. They’re desperate, and beautiful and flawed and extremely powerful.

Him:  Oh jesus.

Me: Did I mention comics take themselves too seriously?

Him:  Earlier, you did.  So you hate straight people.

Me:  No.  I don’t.  But I hate the society (composed mostly of straight people) that brought me up to be ashamed of myself.  I hate that.  I hate that my gay brothers and sisters pander to a paradigm they KNOW they don’t believe in, just to try to fit in.  I’m tired of wondering if people see me as a good, productive homosexual.

Him:  Rather than one of the other ones?

Me:  Yes, darling.  Exactly.   One of the bad ones.  I’m one of the bad ones.

Him:  Are you?

Me:  Sure.  I’m the fag your mother warned you about.

Him:  But don’t you think people want to accept homosexuality?  Why be a bad boy?

Me:  Do I think people want to accept homosexuality?  ARE YOU CRAZY?  No.  I don’t.  At best they tolerate us.   At worst they’re like Senator McCain – suspicious that we’ll taint their workforce.  NO.  That’s not even true.  Worse case scenario, they crucify us on a barbed wire fence in Wyoming.

Him:  Matthew…

Me:  You’re DAMNED RIGHT MATTHEW.  But one Martyr does not make a cause my friend.  That’s an incident, that’s not a movement.  That’s mostly just a chance for straight people to get on the news and feign surprise and ignorance that there’s that much hatred in the world.

Him:  You’re being really rough on straight people.

Me:  I am.   I’m doing it just for effect.  How’s it wear on me?

Him:  You still look cute.

Me:  You’re still a handsome charmer.  We’re going to kiss again, later I hope?

Him:  We’ll see.

Me:  aldkfja;sdlkfjsadlkfjas;dkfjsd;kfl;dfkljasdflkjfsd;lkjf;laksdf;ldfks;sdalfjfsd;kljfds;l Yes we shall…

TO BE CONTINUED, JERKS.

My Japanese Little Brother Kazu came over a few weeks ago.  He was curious about making an Orange Custard Pie.  He’s becoming a good pie maker, right?  Remember when he showed me how to make a Green Tea and Red Bean Pie?  Yum.

I had a recipe in my Cook’s Illustrated book, so we decided we’d just follow it straight out.

You make an Orange Custard Pie just like how you make a Vanilla Custard pie.  But cut the vanilla in half.

Add the juice and zest of one orange to the egg/cornstarch/sugar mixture that you creamed.

Meanwhile, you and your sexy Japanese Little Brother have been heating up milk and cream on the stove.  Don’t have a sexy Japanese Little Brother?  Well, I don’t know what to tell you.  You can’t have mine.  Start being nice to Japanese people, I guess?

Anyway, slowly whisk the heated dairy into the egg/sugar/starch/orange mixture.

Heat it up for another couple minutes and then chill it.

Pour the custard into a baked blind pie shell, and chill the whole affair for at least 6 hours.  Overnight is better.

Look at the mess you made with your Little Brother.  Have some self respect and clean it up.

Second to last step:  Be thankful that you have a sexy, bright, young Little Brother to come help you make pie.

Last step:  Enjoy the Orange Custard Pie.

Jerks.

Okay, so, here’s a letter asking for advice.  I’ll try to answer it as best I can, but I’m not a doctor, okay?  Thanks for writing in, guys.

(This is what I showed the guy I’ve been stalking from Starbucks.  I finally got the guts up to approach him.)

Michael,

I’m a 21 year old college student studying abroad in Europe. About 4 months ago, I met a gorgeous man from Warsaw. He’s successful, 13 years older than me, and looks like he came out of a Brooks Brothers catalog. Shortly after meeting we began getting intimate, and it’s been that way ever since. He’s intuitive, well endowed, and extremely wealthy. My life for the past month has consisted of short weekend trips abroad to Milan, Prague, Budapest, Vienna, and Krakow – he wines and dines me at some of Europe’s finest restaurants, and provides me with gifts and amazing sex… it’s probably every gay boy’s dream – until 6 days ago.

I kind of like to know my partner’s middle names for random reasons, so while he was showering I obliged myself to his wallet and snooped around for his middle name – that’s when I found pictures of him, a woman, and a little boy. It really bugged me so the next night I checked his cell phone and found out he has been texting a woman and mentioned “the kids”. Still curious, I began doing research on him and long story short, found he is indeed married and has two little kids. I’m involved in an extramarital affair and have become an official gold digger, and somehow, I’m okay with it.

I confronted him 2 days ago and we originally began yelling and fighting about it, and he admitted it… but somehow it just makes me more attracted to him – and we ended up having the best sex ever that night. I know it’s the worst thing a boy could possibly do, but I feel really comfortable being the middle man – it’s almost an aphrodisiac. How do I separate myself from him and make a clean split? Is it bad that I don’t feel absolutely horrible that I’m actively participating in this and could potentially break a family? I know he’s been technically been using me for sex, but I’ve been sort of using him for the vanity and sex, too… so am I also a guilty/horrible person? I move back to New York City in a month, but I feel like it’s going to be the longest month of my life.

– Tut

Thanks for the letter, Tut.

Okay.  First things first.  I love you for mentioning his penis size in  your very first paragraph.  For some reason, I find that adorable/hilarious.  I bet you’re just the cutest thing, in person.

Couple of things struck me as I read this letter.

I don’t like that you snooped in his wallet and Sherlock Holmesed his phone.  That’s not cool.  Don’t do that again.  Seriously.  This man has spent time and money to make you feel good, and you’ve betrayed his trust.  I had a boyfriend snoop through my email once, and it really killed me inside.  I got over it eventually.  He was mortified that he’d done it, and I was too.  See…  that’s the thing, right?  When you snoop into someone’s private life you sometimes find out if they’re a bad person, but you always find out that you are.  I looked through my parents room once, when I was a kid, and I was mortified about it for months.  Don’t do that again.  Just…  Okay?

Okay.  Enough of the lecture.  On to your questions.

(The Starbucks guy said no.  He has a boyfriend and they’re happy.  Yes I asked if they were happy.  Shut up.)

How do I separate myself from him and make a clean split? I don’t think you will, or want to.  You’ve admitted that you have no qualms being a gold digging little twink.  Go nuts.  Unless he’s falling for you?  But it sounds like he’s got his life pretty compartmentalized.   My gut says he’s using you.  Why not use him?

Is it bad that I don’t feel absolutely horrible that I’m actively participating in this and could potentially break a family? Er…  I dunno? I mean, you don’t feel bad about it.  You said so already.  I’m not sure I could do that, but you don’t seem bothered by it.  But you’re feeling bothered about not feeling bothered?  That’s probably some sort of convoluted moral pang. It’s up to you to judge those pangs and see if they outweigh the fun, money, good sex, and ego boost.  As far as breaking up the family?  Not likely.   My gut says the wife knows about this or suspects it.  You don’t marry a gay man and then let him go out of town every weekend to different countries without having an inkling of what’s what.

I know he’s been technically been using me for sex, but I’ve been sort of using him for the vanity and sex, too… so am I also a guilty/horrible person? Yes.  I already said you were horrible for looking through his things.  Wouldn’t it be so much better not to know all this crap? Have some respect for your sex partner next time.  But seriously – no.  I don’t think you’re a horrible person.  This is what people do.  They cheat on their spouses.  They pretend they don’t know their rich, hung husbands are gay.  They fuck older guys with money for validation.  Consider this.  You’re the youngest person in this situation and therefore the most naive.  Shouldn’t you cut yourself some slack?    I doubt you’re his first or last love affair with a 21 year old.  What makes you responsible for his decisions?  Nothing.  He’s going to be doinking a twink.  It might as well be you.

You said it yourself.  He’s using you for sex.  Good.  You’re using him for sex and money and ego validation.  What a sneaky twink you are.  But just love yourself, okay?  Let this affair run its course and take stock of yourself when you get back to New York.  If you like what you see, great.  If you don’t, then make a change.

But remember.  You didn’t know this guy had this baggage when you fell in lust with him.  It’s okay.  You’re not terrible.  Love yourself a little more.  Stop looking through people’s stuff.  It’s a violation.   That’s my advice.

I think you’re beautiful.  Thanks for writing in, Jerk.

(I’m officially not stalking you anymore, Corbin.  No more photographing you and then asking Facebook if anyone knows you.  Probably.)

From time to time people ask me on dates.  They see me on the internet and who knows?  Maybe they think I’m the answer to their life problems, or loneliness.   In any case – I prove them wrong:

Him:  Oh my God.  How did you know I was here at Starbucks? Grindr said you were 71 feet away.

Me:  I didn’t know.  I just come here to stalk a guy, and get coffee on my work break. It’s pure coincidence that we were just chatting on Grindr.

Him:  Well, sit down.  It must be fate. (pause)  Wait, you stalk a guy here at the Starbucks?

Me:  I come here because I know he comes here and I like to look at him.

Him:  So yes, you’re a stalker.

Me:  Yeah, I probably am.

Him:  So you’re working in the neighborhood?

Me:  Yeah.  On Monday and Tuesday I work in Hell’s Kitchen.

Him:  So do you work every day?

Me:  No, I…  er…   Well, kind of…

Him:  What does that mean?

Me:  I do a lot of things for money.  Comedy,  music…  I teach…  I make pies…

Him:  Pies?  Really?

Me:  Really.

Him:  What’s pie?

Me:  Really?

(pause)

Me:  It’s pastry.  It has a crust and you put fruit or chocolate or sometimes savory stuff like pork or chicken.

Him:  Don’t be smart, I know what pie is.

Me:  Oh.  Sorry.  My fault.  I probably thought you didn’t know what pie was, because you asked me what pie was.

Him:  Are you always this difficult?

Me:  Almost without fail.

Him:  I love your pic on Grindr.

Me:  Thanks.  I sent you the body picture too, that you requested.

Him:  Mmmmm.  I saw it.  You’re how old?  27?

Me:  No.  I’m a little older than that.

Him:  It’s your glasses.  Your glasses make you look young.

(Pause.  I take my glasses off)

Me:  What about now?  Do I look significantly older?

Him:  Yes.  You look much older now.

Me:  You’re just saying that to flatter me.  Charm boat…

Him: So you just want a kiss?  Nothing else?

Me:  That’s right.  It’s something I invented – it’s called a ‘kiss date.’  I meet people online, chat with them for a few minutes and then kiss them to see if there’s chemistry.  Also, I write about it online.  Be careful, I might blog about this.

Him:  Are you going to blog about this?

(pause)

Me:  I might.  It really depends on how we behave with each other.  Do you think this is a bed bug bite?  I’m paranoid about bed bugs…  It’s probably just that I burned myself on the oven rack, and don’t remember it.  I do that sometimes.

Him:  Why were you touching an oven rack?

Me:  I…  make… pies…  A pie is a type of pastry.

(pause)

Me:  You have a slight accent.  Are you from the Philippines?

Him:  How did you guess?

Me:  The accent…  Also you look like someone who has a Karaoke machine and likes illegal handguns.

Him:  That’s a stereotype.

Me:  I know.  I’m joking.  You look more like someone who would vote for an unqualified candidate from a political dynasty family that is corrupt.  I’m kidding.  You don’t look like any of that.  I’m just being salty.  I read a lot about the Philippines in the Times.  They love to cover you guys.

Him:  I’m not a nurse either, if that’s what you’re thinking.

Me:  I wasn’t, but don’t worry, there’s still time…  The hospitals aren’t going anywhere.

Him:  You’re funny, but is that appropriate?

Me:  Depends.  Are you going to pay me?  Or shoot me with an illegal handgun for singing My Way at karaoke?

Him:  Pay you for the jokes?  No.

Me:  Then I should stop giving it away for free.  This is probably not a bed bug bite – right?  It’s just a burn from the oven, I think…

Him:  My family doesn’t have a karaoke machine you know.  They just have a microphone.

Me:  Just a microphone?  Where does the music come from?

Him:  It’s programmed into the microphone.  You plug it in and the music comes out of the microphone.  It’s like an iPod plus a microphone all in one.

Me:  That sounds suspiciously like a machine to me.

Him: It’s not.

Me:  I stand corrected.  It’s probably more like a magic wand, and less like a machine.

(Long pause.  He eyes me suspiciously for a good while.)

Me:  Well, I should get back to work.

Him:  Yes.  Be sure to favorite me on Grindr.  I’m going to Amsterdam this weekend but I’ll be back soon.

Me:  Okay!  Sounds good!  I’d kiss you, but I’ve been drinking coffee.

Him:  See you soon.

Me:  Okay!

(Surprise ending:  I didn’t favorite him on Grindr)

Please enjoy this picture of my butt crack, Jerks.

Sometimes people ask me on dates.  They see me online and they think I’m the answer to their life’s problems or loneliness.  Invariably I prove them wrong.

But, then again, sometimes people just run into me at the store, and make me smile for days.  Invariably I prove them right.

Her:  Excuse me?

Me:  What?

Her:  Well…  nothing, I guess…

Me:  Nothing’s ever Nothing.

Her: What?

Me: An old saying…

Her:  Nobody buys flour anymore.  I’m happy to see you buying flour.  Did I tell you?  I’m Seventy Two…

Me:  That’s older than me.  I’m a baker.  I bake stuff…    I’m here visiting my brother and his lovely wife and family.

Her: How’s that?

Me:  I gotta tell you, it’s pretty amazing.

Her: MY brother has a wife and family.  But he married a Roman Catholic.…

(pause)

Me:  Well.

(pause)

Me:  It could have been ‘worse…”  He could have married a Muslim or a Buddhist…

Her:  Huh.  But he MARRIED a Roman Catholic…

(long pause where this is supposed to set in…)

Me:  Yeah – that’s bound to be…

Her:  We never see him….  He’s always with people different than us…

Me:  Yeah that sucks…

(long pause.)

Her:  You know, my minister is gay.  Of the Baptist Church.

Me:  Is that a fact?

Her: Yes.  This IS Ohio, after all…

Me: (bewildered) Yeah, you’re right…  I forgot that it was…

Her:  He’s Gay.  And I respect that…   You…  I mean, look at you…   I’m pretty sure, if you look at it scientifically….  I mean.  Gay people are smart?  Right?

Me: I am inclined to agree with you…

Him:  That will be $15:23, sir.  Do you have a club card?

Me:  No.  I’m from out of town.

Her:  I think he can use my club card.  I’d like that…

Him:  You want to use her club card?

Me:  Do you mind if we game the system?

Him:  $13:04 please.

Me:  What’s your name?

Her:  Esther Price.  It’s very nice to meet you.

Me:  On the contrary – it’s very nice to meet you, Esther Price.

Her:  If you say so.

Me:  I do say so…

Her:  Just don’t marry any Roman Catholics…

Me:  I probably won’t…

(Enjoy the TuesDATE, Jerks)

I was asked to do an online cooking show.  Don’t get excited.  Or do.  It was fun and they were nice, but it wasn’t like some cheerfully lit, antiseptic gorgeous kitchen on The Food Network.  It was more like a ramshackle basement where a bunch of funny guys might hang out in some post-adolescent Peter Pan  Newcastle and pot smoke induced haze.  In other words, my kind of place.

Plus my friend Morgan Phillips lives with those guys, and he’s great.  He’s funny and supportive and is very well liked/respected in the New York comedy community.

Show us your dish is a show where four comics invite a fifth over to cook food and chat about comedy.  Nick is the host, and he’s wing-manned by Marshal and Borris.  Jesse is the camera man/editor/ tech guy.  Also, he hit on me the whole episode.  It was embarrassing.  I thought he was going to date rape me.

Next time, Jesse.

The guys were fun, and funny, and very tolerant of my comedy weirdness/political rants.  Here’s the episode:

It was the funnest thing ever.  And, as you can see, Jesse was hitting on me the WHOLE TIME.  Jesse, my eyes are up here!

Thanks for asking me, guys.  I’d come back any time!  As for the rest of you – Enjoy the Chicken Pot Pie, Jerks!!!