It always starts with something small, doesn't it, possums?
On last week's episode, we thrilled when Sara Mair wanted to buy tricolor fusilli for the Bertolli challenge, and Howie had a mini (queeny) meltdown about how it was the "cheesiest, corniest" pasta that you would see "on buffet tables" in "every schlock house" in the country. Meow!
So what did Howie's Bear life-partner, Joey, insist on for his team? Why, tricolor fusilli, of course. That's when we knew this bearriage was in trouble.
(Naturally, Joey's teammate, Hung, wanted penne (yes, there's a cheap and easy bisexual joke in there about how "pene" is Italian for "penis," and yes, "penne" means "feathers," and let's not forget pájaros and The Birdcage, but we're too lazy to flesh it out).
Oh, and while we're at it, we were disheartened that italianissimo Joey couldn't even pronounce orecchiete, which he rendered as "oh-reh-CLEH-tee." Tsk, tsk, Giuseppe.
And since we're digressing, we must mention Miss XaXa's chortle when she heard 5'6" Howie saying, "It's a no-brainer for me that shrimp is the way to go, because everybody loves shrimp." Well, at least we know Joey does.)
We shuddered as we imagined the scenes that would take place when Howie & Joey invited Andrew &amp;amp; Aaron and Rob & Peter and Tom & Tony for Sunday brunch at their place and Joey insisted on serving pasta salad made with tricolor fusilli. Possums, the Fiesta Ware (Joey's, of course) would fly. And that would be part of the argument, too, Fiesta Ware vs. simple, sober plates from Armani Casa. Oh, and the doilies Joey would insist on for the couches ("But Howie, Pooh Bear, we can't have you sweatin' into the velour")! And Joey wanting to stay home and watch Beaches one more time while Howie wanted to go out and see The Bourne Ultimatum, or stay home but watch UFC death matches. It's too, too tragic to contemplate.
Has it really come to an end?
Our pals Doug and Maddy at the Miami Herald's Top Chef blog bring us the scoop. Maddy, who interviewed Joey, found him in a heartbreaking condition, "drinking a Gatorade and smoking a Newport." So that's what grief tastes like, Gatorade and Newports--why didn't The English Patient tell us this?
Maddy then discovered that Joey and Howie have not spoken at all and Joey asked for Howie's email address. Indeed, Joey, who lives in New York, didn't even know that Howie was in New York too! The outrage! Howie, of course, was consorting with Alfred Portale, the man Joey himself likened to Michelangelo, and we all know about Michelangelo, don't we?
Is it any wonder that, as Maddy reports, Joey may be turning into one of the Ungay?
First, Joey suggests, he may have tried sexually harassing Padma Lakshmi: "Padma is Padma. She is beautiful. And I said that on a few occasions. I'm not afraid to speak my mind. That's me - I'm very open. If you hold back, you're gonna tear your insides apart."
And now? The coup de grâce! "I just started dating a wonderful girl. She's in the insurance business." Madonna, ma come mai?!
First of all, this proves, if proof were needed, that straight women have lower, or at least different, standards than the Gays. Secondly, insurance business? Aren't these people supposed to know about risks?
But wait. Hope is not entirely lost. Joey "still ha[s]n't opened that bottle of red that Howie got from Maria Frumkin for winning the elimination challenge."
He hasn't opened the bottle. Doesn't that tell you everything, possums? It's as if that bottle held not delightfully rotten Argentinean grapes, but a message, a liquid billet doux. Insurance girls, Alfred Portale and Padma Lakshmi be damned. We still believe in love.