Out of the MFMouths of...: Brian MFMalarkey Refuses to Be Your Kid-Tested, Homo-Approved Pawn!

Sometimes, possums, even we are taken aback at the sheer deliciousness of certain statements made by cheftestants. We practically squirm with delight.

We don't mind confessing, then, that there was a good deal of delighted squirming when we came across this interview with Brian MFMalarkey. Herewith, the tastiest, squirmiest bits:

* "I was apprehensive about doing the show," Brian said. "First it was a challenge of if I was going to get on the show... Once I got on I really had to think, 'Do I want to do this?'"

"I called up the day before I was going to ship out and said no... I don’t want to be edited. I don’t want to be your pawn... I was really nervous about the whole process," Brian added.

[MFMalarkey showing signs of being confused and "undecided"? Color us shocked.]

* Brian, who said he's very popular with kids, older ladies, and the gay community, had a feeling from the start that he'd make it to the final four.

["Wait a minute," said Miss XaXa. "Wasn't Liberace the last man to be very popular with kids, older ladies, and the gay community?"]

* Either way, Brian said he was confident he'd make it to the final four because he has a lot of diversity in the kitchen and is quick on his feet.

[Well, possums, let us not be so skeptical about his "diversity." It's true he was ever so devoted to sausage, but sometimes it was fish (seafood) and sometimes it was fowl (pheasant). Being torn between fish and fowl is perfect for MFMalarkey, n'est-ce pas?]

* Why else did Brian have a feeling he'd make it to the final four? "A lot of the challenges don't really come down to the cooking skills, but your charisma..."

["Honey," said Miss XaXa, "your charisma was seriously undermined by the soul patch, the thumb ring and the asshats."]

* All joking aside, while Brian said, "CJ's definitely going to be my best friend that I'll know for a lifetime," he also said he has a "really strong bond" with the other members of the final four... "even Hung."

Even Hung?

"[The viewers] have horrible opinions of him. I was a roommate and kind of a big brother to him. He'd start saying the most ridiculous things, and I'd say, 'Hung, Hung, you're on TV,' and he'd listen to me."

[Frankly, possums, we were shocked--shocked!--by Brian's admissions. The idea that a fratty white beach boy would become best friends with a fratty white beach boy is truly surprising. And the idea of Brian, beloved of the gay community, playing "big brother" to little bisexual Hung, well, it's enough to restore one's faith in humanity. It's a fine example of living up to the ideals of Be Kind to Bisexuals Week.]

Now, a teensy potential spoiler alert pointed out by an astute anonymous Amuse-Biatch commenter. On his blog today, Raggaydy Andy says, "After tonight's episode, I will be live at Bravotv.com for 'Watch What Happens' with one of tonight's eliminated chefs and Gail Simmons - call us live!" MFMalarkey's MySpace page says he's off to New York for his birthday, and his birthday is today. Donc, MFMalarkey is in New York today, and thus going on "Watch What Happens" tonight as one of the eliminated chefs. What a way to spend your (35? 30?) birthday!

Gay, Straight or Unwanted?: Amuse-Biatch Refuses to Take One for the Team

Is Sam Talbot gay? Is Sam Talbot gay?

We have from time immemorial adhered to the dictum of Anna Roosevelt Longworth--cousin to that old battleaxe of a dyke, the first (but certainly not the last) lesbian First Lady, Eleanor Roosevelt--when she reportedly said, "If you haven't anything nice to say, come sit by me."

So we are always curious to see how it is that people come to sit by Amuse-Biatch in order to hear the not-nice things we customarily say. Imagine our surprise when Google informed us that disturbingly large numbers of people are coming to the oracular grove of Withering Depths to ask their one pressing question: Is Sam Talbot gay? Is Sam Talbot gay?

We had long ago grown accustomed to the Is Marcel Vigneron gay? question leading people into our debauched, sybilline embrace, but this was something new altogether.

So, is Sam Talbot gay?

A thorny question indeed. Or so we thought. As usual, Miss XaXa cut the Gordian knot with her Southern tongue. "Please. Sam isn't gay. For God's sake, he recognized the lead guitarist for Extreme."

When we looked blank, she sighed and rolled her eyes. "Exactly. They're an obscure rock group that hasn't had a hit since 1991's 'More Than Words.'"

We nodded in awe. "Besides," she added, "even though Sam wears a teeshirt that reads 'Mi Vida Loca'"--which can be loosely translated as "My Life in Faggotry"--"he can't even tell the difference between yellow and green."

Well, that takes care of that. So, great Google searchers, the oracle has spoken: Sam Talbot is not gay, Sam Talbot is not gay.

This got us thinking. And being ever so public-spirited, we decided to do something for the hordes of Google searchers and cherished, head-scratching readers. So once and for all, let us guide you through the list of remaining male cheftestants, just to set your minds at ease.

Cliff Crooks was inordinately and squealingly thrilled to be cooking for former Madonna BFF-cum-fag hag (sorry for the redundancy) Debi Mazar, which didn't look so good for him. But then he described her as "cute." The pendulum swung. And he admitted he's colorblind. That sealed the deal. We have only ever known one gay man who was colorblind, and he turned out to be bisexual, which just goes to show you. The final nail in the coffin? In contrast to Ted Allen, Cliff never once uttered the word "aubergine." Verdict: Straight.

There's Ilan Hall, who sports an earring (wrong ear, though), has a fauxhawk and a rat's-tail (more smug-Williamsburg-hipster-scum than Chelsea boy; both Hedi Slimane and Maddox Jolie-Pitt have long ago given up their fauxhawks, so no self-respecting gay boy would be caught sporting one, much less on Bravo), wears Pepto Bismol-pink pants and shirts (but so do Episcopalian clerics on occasion), walks pigeon-toed (we're not touching that one), likes going to the theatre (hmmmmm), and is positively obsessed with comparing symbolic phalluses and with another guy's cherry (sounds like the military). Verdict: Straight but anxious.

As for Michael "Beer Bong" Midgley, we have two words for you: Puh-leeze. Not even the chubby chasers want him. No need for this one to go to the jury. Summary judgment: Straight as a room-temperature Bud Light.

And then there's Marcel. Oy, where to start? We have very publicly wrestled with this question, as you can read for yourselves in all our posts. (The bit about there being "friendly ladies" in his life, from today's Raggaydy Andy Interview, was an especially nice touch. In some cultures, "friendly ladies" are called beards; in other cultures they're known as "sex workers," and in our country, they go by the name "Katie Holmes.")

For the record, after much deliberation, we have come to the conclusion that Marcel isn't gay, just clueless. But it doesn't much matter, because you know what? We don't want him.

(And while we're at it, we don't want Sam Talbot either. Like Gaytopia needs another greasy-haired, passive-aggressive, smarmy mumbler with grossly inflated self-regard and a penchant for leather wrist bands.)

It's all true, what the fundies say. Incapable as we are of parthenogenesis, we can increase our numbers only by resorting to conversion of innocent straight guys, as well as through the implementation of our diabolical plan to introduce soy products into the American diet. But unlike the U.S. Army in its desperation to meet recruitment quotas, we have some standards. We won't take just anyone.

Just when did "gay" become the fallback position for the socially awkward and the terminally annoying? Gaytopia is not--we repeat, not--the Island of Misfit Boys. Our borders are closed. There's no giant statue of Judy Garland at the entrance holding a microphone-cum-disco ball in her right hand with a plaque reading "Give us your weird, your fucked-up, your huddled misfits yearning to be fab."

So you can keep your Marcels and Sams and Ilans. We refuse to take another one for the team.

First Reaction: A Bunch of Snotty Little Kids

You could feel it.

Even we could feel it, and we had a head cold. Yes, with this episode, this season of "Top Chef" at long last hit its stride. At first we were a little thrown off, but once we got what this episode was about, namely, slumming, we got it. And we'll get into a bite-sized disquisition on this a little later today, but first let us start with what we learned from this episode.

We learned that Breathe-Rite strips don't work.

We learned that Marcel is really Liberace reincarnated as a Valley girl.

We learned that Padma is, or wants to be, the People's Princess.

We learned that only 38% of Americans eat in "fine dining" restaurants.

We learned that the Redondo Seaside Lagoon existed (and we're from Southern California).

We learned that when it comes to ice cream, Heston Blumenthal of The Fat Duck is He Who Must Not Be Named.

We learned that Humbert Humbert is a diabetic.

We learned about the dangers of sugar for one's posterior and one's periodontist.

We learned that Cliff, who won the Quickfire Challenge, is poised to become "Top Chef's" version of "Project Runway's" Michael.

We learned that bacon can be sassy, that food is for eating, that you can screw up a steak sandwich, that Betty has more nicknames than we can keep track of, and that her lungs are a force of nature.

Finally, we learned that when it rains, it pours, and that Emily is even saltier than she declared. And just when we began to love her, we lost her.