Hey guys.
Just a reminder – my friend Julia Wiedeman is performing her show, Naked People tomorrow night at The Upright Citizen’s Brigade Theater.
That’s Thursday the 12th, at 9:30pm. It’s only five bucks.
The show is super funny, and very body positive.
Julia is fearless and without shame. So inspiring.
You should really check it out. It’s your only chance to see it in April.
It’s hilarious, and there’s so much nipplage and side boobage.
How can you go wrong?
Go see Julia’s show.
Jerks.
Okay. So, I never claimed I wasn’t strange.
I’m pretty weird.
That’s a given. You’ve been to my site. You’ve poked around. You get it. Weirdo city, right?
Still. The things people send me…
Sometimes it’s pretty straightforward.
Like this:
So no pies this morning. But I did make muffins. Banana yogurt walnut. Pic
attached.
If I’d known there was a pie lifestyle (piestyle?), I’d have signed up
sooner.
5’8″ 150 45 neg vers smart creative prof type. Also pics attached.
Matt
Matt,
I’d love to have you over to bake. You seem like a nice guy and your letter mentioned baked goods, and you included a face (omitted) pic and a torso shot. What a gentleman. I love that you are not afraid of using a floral speedo as underwear for your internet torso photo shoot. Shows you have a real sense of humor, and you don’t take yourself too seriously.
Now, when you say you’re a ‘smart, creative, prof type’ do you mean what I hope you mean???
‘Prof’ means Professor, right? Not Professional? Please say you’re a ‘Professor.’ Like Charles Xavier or Emma Frost? Someone who trains young mutants to cope with their staggeringly overwhelming super powers? Just say that you run a school for gifted youngsters, please? If that’s true, you can plan to have me as your husband and baby daddy for the rest of your life, or until a Legacy Virus makes us make hard choices and really examine who we are…
If ‘Prof’ means professional: I will still bake with you. I am just less excited.
Know what? I just realized something. You, more likely than not, meant ‘Professional’.
Hm. Well… I look forward to baking with you at least. Just, uh….
Stay out of my THOUGHTS Professor!!
On to the next internet weirdo!!! He didn’t sign his letter, so I’ll just call him Klaus.
wow – PIEFOLK looks like an amazing project,
I´m really curious to see what you are doing in your kitchen,
(You don’t have to be, Klaus – I’m pretty open about what I’m doing in my kitchen. I photograph it and broadcast it)
I have no experience with making pies and meeting guys
but like the way you present yourself on your blog
and I´m willing to learn more about it
Here’s the drawing that Klaus sent me.
Obviously this old man should NOT stop smoking opium. He’s simply been accosted by a young boy with a pail full of clear gelatin…. Uh… Right? I think that’s pretty clear. In any case-
Thanks again for writing in, Klaus…
Next internet weirdo, please?
so you handle cock and the handle food, thats gross
bloe me
Thanks for your feedback, Bloe Me. I can see you’ve taken the time to cultivate the image of who you are, when you enter the internet world. Your internet identity is Bloe Me. Wow. That’s so important. I can tell you want to really be the change you want to see in the world. I love you for that. I really do.
Here’s my comeback. Ready?
I bake in my own home. I wash my hands, stupid.
But there’s really nothing stopping me from working in any of New York’s commercial kitchens, or restaurants… I mean – I’m certified…
AREN’T YOU EXCITED??? You’ll never know if it was secretly ME who made your food!!! Yay!!! We both win!! But really just me.
You’re welcome.
Next. Internet. Weirdo. Please?
Strength Training. Chapter one: Involve yourself in a horrible accident.
Thanks for your letter!!! It makes total sense!
Guys.
As much as I make fun of you for sending me weird shit? I’m pretty grateful. It’s pretty cool to be communicating with you weirdos, even if I don’t always understand it…
Like I said at the top of this post – I’m a weirdo myself. I live by the weirdo code. I have respect for you weirdlings, even if it seems like i don’t.
So, thanks, weirdos, for writing in.
And please. Have a good week.
Jerks.
Sometimes people ask me on dates. They tend to go horribly. These are their stories.
(Law and Order Sound Effect)
Him: Come home with me.
Me: No. Do you think this sweater is too heavy for the springtime?
Him: Come on. Come home with me.
Me: No. It’s late and you’re drunk and I’m not and I’m tired.
Him: Come home with me. We’ve been flirting with each other for a long time now. Come on.
Me: No. 9 months is a long time?
Him: Come on. (hails a cab) Get in the cab.
Me: No. I’m going home.
Him: Yes.
Me: Okay fine.
(Montage: Snuggly cab ride. Surprised cab driver. Deli visit for food and beer. Fumbling with keys.)
Him: Do you want a beer? I’m having a beer.
Me: Yes. I’m going to start drinking at 3 am. Good idea.
Him: Great, I’ll open you one.
Me: No, wait. I changed my mind.
Him: Fickle.
Me: More like, sarcastic.
Him: I like that.
Me: I like you.
Him: I know.
Me: Don’t worry. I don’t get weird. I let things develop naturally. We’ll have two kids, one Korean girl named Ellen, and one African boy, named Sh’Africa.
Him: Sounds like you’re telling Africa to be quiet.
Me: I’m not. I like the names Sean and Africa. Sh’Africa. If anything, I think Africa should be louder.
Him: Why?
Me: All that suffering? Isn’t there a lot of suffering and economic inequality?
Him: I’ve never been.
Me: Me neither. I’m operating on what I’ve read in liberal news media and what I’ve seen in movies like Congo.
Him: Take your coat off.
Me: Certainly. I’ll just throw it on the floor here.
Him: You’re funny.
Me: You’re pretty.
Him: Make out with me.
(We do.)
Him: Take your shirt off.
Me: Yessir.
(We take our shirts off. Bitchin’ make out session.)
Him: Take your pants off.
Me: Yessir
(We take our pants off. Bitchin’ make out session. It’s getting hard to contain ourselves. Get it?)
Him: Let’s get naked.
Me: How dare you. No, wait. I changed my mind again. That’s a great idea.
Him: Are you a bottom?
Me: What? Oh. Sex? Oh! Sex! Okay. Yes. No. I’m versatile. I’m the opposite of whatever your favorite thing to do is…
Him: Then you’re a bottom.
Me: I am indeed!
(We get naked. Bitchin’ make out session. Then, suddenly – he loses interest entirely. The evening goes limp.)
Him: I was afraid of this.
Me: What?
Him: I was afraid that this would happen. My penis stops working after a while.
Me: No! Stop it! It’s okay. Cut yourself some slack. You had a lot to drink. I watched you.
Him: No. What? No. I don’t have whiskey dick. Hahaha. No.
Me: What?
Him: I have a thing that happens. Once I get someone naked and it’s obvious that I can sleep with them, I lose interest.
Me: Heh. You’re funny.
Him: Please don’t make fun of me. It’s a real problem.
Me: I was going to say, why don’t we just go to sleep and give it a shot in the morning.
Him: Ha. Right. No.
Me: What?
Him: I think you should leave now.
Me: WHAT?
Him: It’s like this. I already got you naked. You already said you’d give me what I want. It’s kind of like I’ve already figured you out. I’m not going to be interested anymore.
Me: What? Heh. Ha. I uh… hm…
(He starts putting on clothes. He starts handing clothes to me. I start putting on clothes.)
Him: Yeah. It’s best if you just go home.
Me: I’m much farther away from home now than when you talked me into the cab.
Him: I’ll call you a car. You should go home.
Me: No. I’ll take the train. I should never have come here.
Him: Oh stop. I had fun.
Me: Yeah it was a blast. You’re a real great host. Thanks for having me over.
Him: It’s a real problem, okay? I have a problem with sex. I’d appreciate some sympathy.
Me: Awww… Sweet baby… Hey. I’m going to say something – please don’t take it the wrong way, okay?
Him: Okay.
Me: You’re an asshole. I don’t mean like self-absorbed like me and my comedy friends. I mean for real. You’re a real, true, asshole. I’m going to leave my card.
Him: What is this?
Me: I want you to check out my site, but wait a few days…
Him: Why?
Me: Because when people act like assholes on dates with me, I put it on the internet. Is that my coat? Thanks.
Him: What?
Me: Yeah! You’re famous! Congrats! And hey.
Enjoy playing mind games with someone else, Jerk.
(Surprise ending: I laughed about him the whole train ride home. I didn’t feel bad about myself.)
Oh Jesus. Are you kidding me? A BENEFIT? I have to make and DONATE a pie? Why?
Oh. Japan. That’s right. Sorry. I’m self absorbed. It’s a real problem.
Of course I’ll make a pie for a benefit for Japan. What am I a monster? Yes. But I’ll do it anyway.
My friend Kirk pretended to go to Japan. About four or five months ago he started telling everyone in the New York sketch and improv communities about how he booked a show in Tokyo. He was going to play a role in Picasso at the Lapin Agile. It was an elaborate ruse. He stopped coming to The Upright Citizen’s Brigade where he performs regularly while he was ‘in Japan.’ He even set up a sham tumblr where he photographed food and tried to convince people that breakfast can talk.
Sidebar: This is Corey. I know, right? DOING!! He’s a really nice guy and he helped me make the pie for the Kettle of Fish Benefit for Japan.
He’s a dancer. He just got back from doing a dance show in Pennsylvania, and now he’s traveling around the country, judging dance contests. That’s what he does for a living. Pretty cool right? He’s been asking to be on the blog for a while, and what am I stupid? Of course he can. He’s successful and beautiful. (doing!)
So, back to Kirk – he claimed to have a friend from school who runs an ex-pat theater company in Tokyo. Also, he claims that the show was written by Steve Martin, which doesn’t make any sense because why would Steve Martin write a play about a guy who’s obsessed with cake puppets and female roller derby.?? But we all went along with it. We joked to each other things like “Oh me too!! I’m going to Afghanistan to star in Sylvester Stallone’s performance art installation piece about British Colonialism. He’s not even known as a movie star there! It’s where he gets the real work done.”
We made a triple berry pie. It had Strawberries, Blueberries and Raspberries. I found all of them cheap and ripe at the local Korean market. People always ask me to post recipes, but I don’t. Mostly because I improvise a lot of my pie fillings. Here’s what I did: An assload of strawberries. Like, Two big things. A titload of blueberries: two small things or whatever. and a little penisload of raspberries. One tiny thing. They’re tart and they can take over. I stirred all that together with a couple of tablespoons of corn starch, and a couple of heaping tablespoons of sugar. I put some powdered ginger to brighten up the tartness of the berries.
“Oh, I’m leaving town too!! Me too!! Carnie Wilson wrote an opera and we’re doing it in Dresdin in this huge bomb shelter that’s been converted to an ampitheater. It’s about the Irish Potato Famine and Feminism. She’s real down to earth. I hear she might bring her dad, Brian Wilson, but that’s just a rumor.”
We dotted the filling with butter. About two tablespoons, give or take. I eyeballed it.
I put an egg wash on the pie too – just the whites, because I’m racist. Then I sprinkled it with cinnamon sugar.
There was a really funny improv team that performed at the benefit. They’re called Thank You Robot. They had a great set. I kept mentioning to one of the team members (who I don’t know at all) that Kirk was the absolute wrong choice to host a show, and didn’t anyone realize how he was just milking this earthquake benefit to call attention to his tumblr about his fake trip to Japan. The guy kept talking about how great Kirk is and asking me if I’d been drinking a lot. I told him that I was totally sober and didn’t anyone realize that Kirk keeps bidding on the prizes where you get to be alone with girls?
Anyway. I was just joking, guy from Thank You Robot. I think Kirk was a funny, charming host. I just like to break balls. It’s the only real way I can show affection. Well, that, and… ‘pie making.’
That’s Kirk and Poupak. Poupak runs the UCB Difference Tumblr. They both helped organize the benefit.
Corey was fun and easy going. It has been a while since I’ve seen him, and we had a good time together. I’d have him back anytime.
And guys, listen. Kirk’s not a bad guy. He’s funny and charismatic and charming. So he made up a theater gig in Japan, and created an elaborate hoax to support that theory – so what? He’s my friend. And listen, if you’re in the New York sketch/improv comedy community – I say, let’s just humor him about it, huh? Let’s all pretend that he actually went to Japan, and actually lived through the earthquake there. What’s the harm? Becasue the end result was a great, fun, funny benefit. A good amount of money was raised to help Japan, which is a real place (I checked).
I mean look at that face. You’re not a monster are you? Yes, of course you are, but why spoil Kirk’s fun? He doesn’t read this blog (he thinks it will make him gay), so if we all agree, we can just pretend that he went to Japan. That will make us kind, benevolent friends… Because what are we, without our delusions? We’re nothing. Artists are nothing without their delusions.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go back to being an internet superstar. Jerks.
People have been writing me lately, asking for advice. I’m not exactly sure why. It’s not like I’m some shining beacon of wisdom. I don’t exactly have human relationships nailed down, either. But people are asking, and I thought I’d answer some of the questions people ask me from time to time.
Disclaimer: Don’t take my advice. I’m not a doctor, or anything.
Henry, from New York City writes:
Ok so heres my deal. Theres this guy I knew from a friend in college. They went to high school together in New Hampshire. We met like ONCE, and barley spoke, became facebook friends and of course never spoke again after that. I wasn’t interested or anything at the time. But then about a month ago, he “liked” one of my comments. I was surprised because I basically forgot all about this person who I hadn’t heard of or spoken to in 5 years. I messaged him asking how were we facebook friends? He said I was super sexy for liking a certain british SciFi show, this obviously started a stream of convos. I got to the point where I felt “why not meet the fucker?” He’s good looking, nice, funny, and tall as hell. But heres the thing. Hes alil aloof most of the time and weve only talked online so far. He told me about how hes dying of an illness of a name I cant recall and may not live to 40. Now, Im one to give the benefit of the doubt and I guess I did in this situation but something tells me it could be a lie. We didn’t talk for awhile after that and then we did today, most of the day when I was at work doing nothing. He enticed me like no other, saying he wants to fuck me with elaborate detail. I was more then intrigued to say the least. But again he flaked after he said he wants to meet tomorrow. Excited as I was I realized I don’t have his number nor he has mine. When I brought that up and how id like his number, no answer. So now I have no clue what to think and I expressed these very fears to him on meeting up and he said I had nothing to worry about. Well, I can be an anxious person, so I am worried now. I feel this is not a good idea to pursue, almost to good to be true. Am I right? Does this sound totally bonkers? I don’t know what to do really. Im sure nothing but I cant stop thinking about him and it.
Thanks for your letter, Henry.
It seems like you’re dealing with a nut bag. Let’s break down the components of his story, shall we?
1) He says that he’s going to die by the time he’s 40. Okay, let’s assume this is true, even though it sounds like something a weirdo online would make up. If he’s going to use this illness as an excuse to be flaky, not give you his phone number, not follow through on plans – then you don’t need to be starting a relationship with him. Even if it’s just a sexual relationship you two are starting, it needs to be based on mutual respect for each others time an feelings. Sounds like he has neither for you.
2) HE SAYS THAT HE’S GOING TO DIE BY THE TIME HE’S 40. C’mon. Ostensibly he contacted you online for the purpose of flirting? That’s not a flirty way of going about things. Something about it smells fishy to me. You don’t start off a conversation with a stranger like this:
‘Hey sexy, how’s it going?’
‘Good. Feeling horny – I guess it’s springtime. Or, it could be a side effect OF MY LUPUS.’
Again. Not how it’s done.
I think you’re probably dealing with a closet case, or an attention seeking weirdo. The great thing is – he’s let you off the hook. If he doesn’t trust you enough to give you his phone number, then you have zero obligation to him to see him through this ‘illness’ that’s going to claim his life prematurely. That’s my rule of thumb. You don’t trust me with your cell number, I don’t have to care about your rare, imaginary illness.
Block his IMs. It’s New York. There’s plenty of prospective partners out there, no matter what kind of relationship you’re looking for.
Thanks for the question Henry. I hope you enjoyed my advice. And like I said – don’t take it. I’m not a doctor.
And hey. Enjoy living past 40, Jerk.
Hunter Kazorowski made this needlepoint and sent me a photo online.
People send me weird stuff online now. Some of it makes sense, given that this is a pithy gay pie blog. Some of it doesn’t.
But I love my readers, and you guys can continue to send me stuff. Just not creepy stuff, okay, guys? Seriously. No photos of poop. Unless, you know, it’s a miracle dump and the Virgin has appeared in it. Then, okay.
No, wait. Not even then. No poop. I want zero pictures of poop.
Oh poop. What was I talking about?
See? This is fine. Perfectly handsome young guy sent me a nice shot of his lean body. It was coupled with these pies he made:
What a nice guy. He wants to come bake with me. Maybe I’ll let him… He’s being pretty nice so far. We’ll see…
I love the freedom of the internet. I love how people are getting less afraid to live their lives openly.
I love that there’s something about my site that stirs people to send things to me. I feel lucky. I feel grateful.
Here’s a letter from a guy in Montreal:
This is an apple pie,as denoted by the apple decoration.
I picked the apples myself, they are cortlands.
I have a tendency to put a blend of ginger, cardamom, cloves, and cinnamon into an apple pie, a balance that does not overwhelm the apple taste is essential.
The crust also has some old cheddar in it.
It was very good, though the application of egg wash was not very uniform.
I would bake a pie with you sometime if you would like, sometime when I am in New York.
I live in Montreal, ever been?
This be me last time I was in New York.
I like your site, very entertaining.
Tell Kazu we have a very good izakaya bearing his name in the city, people are lined up out the door all the time.
Blake
Did you hear that, Little Brother? Blake (pictured above) says there’s a good izakaya in Montreal.
Aren’t my fellow gays sweet?
This guy is pretty beautiful, right? He lives a few states away but he wants to come bake with me this summer at some point. Okay, I said. Then I said, are you over 18? Then he said, 22. Then I said, bring ID. We can’t have the neighbors talking, after all…
Oh yeah: remember that artist, Lex Millena? He finished the watercolor he was making for me. It’s beautiful. Lex is beautiful.
Thanks Lex. Thanks, everyone. You guys are pretty awesome. Jerks.
My friends are, by and large, a bunch of would be celebrities. That’s kind of how I like it. I hang out with would be celebrity Jerks.
When you’ve got delusions of grandeur, you sort of have to have people around to help you sustain them.
Someone who will go, no, you’re not wrong – you could TOTALLY play 23. Other comics.
We’re a funny bunch. Of Jerks.
Some very funny people came over for dinner and pie:
“Hi, I’m Jason Blaine. I am an adorable elf-person. I am an actor and a t-shirt designer.” I did a show with Michael once that led to our eventual friendship. I could never be a boxer because my fists are so tiny.
“Hi, I’m Pam Murphy. I had a horrible, debilitating cancer. But that doesn’t stop me from chain smoking all the time and making homophobic wise cracks. I wrote a show about what a jerk cancer is. Just kidding. It’s more about what jerks PEOPLE are when they find out you have Cancer!“
“I’m Enrico Wey. I’m in this tiny little Broadway play called War Horse. Heard of it? Well I also travel around the world. I love playing with puppets. Please don’t complement me. I will short-circuit.”
“Hi. I’m Matt Pavlovich. I’m on a UCB sketch team with Michael. I love to rollerblade and hang out with my comedy and yoga friends. Did you come to my murder mystery party? There was a naked albino man peeing on people. I don’t like it when it rains.”
“I’m an egg yolk.”
“I’m Tim Dunn! I’m an actor and a comic at the UCB theater. I’m on a Maude Team and it’s really fun. I also do a show on Broadway. I’m super fancy.”
This is why you let a blueberry chocolate pie cool before slicing it. And also, maybe don’t make it. It was not entirely successful. Reminds me of that time I got the squirts on spring break in Mexico.
“Hi I’m Garrett Palm. I’m a homeless hipster that showed up begging for food. I got the idea to beg for food in India. Did I tell you I went to India? I totally did. I went to India. India. India. India. India. India. India. India. India. India.”
“Hi. I’m Marcy Jarreau. What can I say? I’m pretty damn funny. I wrote a musical about a lesbian camp that everyone loved. I’m also on the UCB team Badman. That adds up to awesome. By the way, that character on Maude that I’ve been doing? Totally Cajun. I swear. SHUT. UP. GARRETT.”
We ate dinner and then played Celebrity. Then we ate that Blueberry Chocolate pie before it was properly cooled. The crust is perfect.
These Jerks won. They were an amazing team. Except for Garrett who was a poor sport and shat his pants on accident.
Then on purpose. Then on accident AGAIN.
Don’t ask silly questions. Of course we enjoyed the pie, Jerks.
From time to time people send me stuff on the internet. Usually it’s pies, or photographs of themselves naked, or not naked. Or all of the above. I think I scratch some sort of voyeuristic itch, maybe, for people – and they want to share in that feeling. To be seen. To bear witness to one another. Then again. Maybe people are just pervy.
That I can also live with.
Sometimes, people send me other stuff. Usually I don’t post it if it isn’t pie related or naked. Those are really my two demographics, right, guys? I’m going to answer for you, since you’re not writing this: YES.
This is Lex Millena
He lives in California and goes to art school.
Lex desscribes himself like this: A Jack of all trades but master of mediocrity, he strives for the idealistic image of perfection. He is a purveyor of dreams and an information hoarder. His insatiable lust for memories results in photographs, notebooks and songs all combating a fear of a transient mind strung around by shiny things. A subtle voice with obnoxious hair with the intent of being heard without saying a word.
Like I said. He goes to art school.
Here, I’ll prove it to you:
See?
Hm? What’s the fucking point, PIEFOLK? Good question. Well. I’ve been thinking of my ex boyfriend lately. His name is Carter and he’s a good man. Distracted, and wonderful, and wistful. He’s one of those people – you meet him and you know he’s kind before he even opens his mouth. He and I met 3 days after 9/11, in a Manhattan bar called Barracuda.
I’m not going to post a pic of him, because he strikes me as more private than all that, but trust me. He looks like a honey bear. Sitting on the shelf of a well lit sub-urban market. Glistening with perfect honey inside.
Carter’s going through a rough time right now.
Hm? What’s this got to do with the art school kid? Oh. This:
Lex, the naked guy from earlier? He made this video. It’s really powerful storytelling, I think. Especially the long walk up the dark stairs, and the smelling of the shirt.
I saw this and I couldn’t help but think of Carter. I found it incredibly moving.
Lex. Thanks for making me cry with your art school video. Jerk.
p.s. Lex asked me 1)if i know Zach Woods and 2)if he’s gay
Yes. No.
PIEFOLK 
