Concept: me and Meghann host a brand new Food Network and/or HGTV show, both clad in shapeless couture denim frocks, both moderately half in the bag the entire time. Me with one eye closed. The opening theme is just the sound of grown men crying.
Shooting location negotiable, can be the Canadian equivalent to the Hamptons. Neighborhood should consist entirely of wispy middle-aged gay men in tight age-inappropriate cashmere v-necks whose professions align only with our garden party planning needs.
We’re cancelled after half a season for intoxication, the show gets syndicated and we happily retire to our respective manors to collect our millions in re$iduals.
Accepting applications for PAs who will call network presidents on our behalf to get this shit rolling. Payment is crepes. No dental.