Imagine sweeping through green fields, floating five feet above ground,

sun on your face as you slide by on track to your destination, not a car in the world,

as you simply lean back. And before you know it, you're there. This is how travel should feel,

and on all trains, it does a venti-west coast. Feel good travel.

Have you had the clap?

Have you had the clap?

I have, bitch, what STI have I not have? I have, I have, I've had crabs, syphilis, gonorrhea.

I've only had crabs. Climidia. Crabs were maybe the worst.

Welcome to Food for Thought, a podcast, gaffess, random multiracial mix of queer riders,

gather around the table to talk about sex, identity, culture, what we like to read, and who we like

to read. Food for Thought, Joe wrote this, by the way, roses are red, violets are blue,

bottoms are goddesses and tops fuck you. I couldn't take, I couldn't take all this shit of that,

and I couldn't think of anything to replace it with, so I just went ahead and did what Joe said.

I love it, I love it. It's a poem, I thought you were a poet, Steve.

I used to be a poet, not anymore. Left that life behind. Yeah, I'm Tommy Teves Peacum,

Indigenous American Poet, podcast or screenwriter, TV writer, and I'm a virgin again,

because of how long it's been since I've had sex. I have officially re-versionized, yeah.

Your, your brioche sweet is just closed right up. We didn't have to say that.

I hate brioche sweet, so much. It's pretty dense.

Inevitably, I always have to Google it. Every single time I have to Google what a brioche sweet

actually looks like the pastry itself, but I can't separate it. It's not even an attractive

pastry. When you go into the French pastry, it's like the least interesting looking thing.

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