This is a true story.
I was in a restaurant down in Park City on Saturday with some pals. We were eating (What?! I KNOW!) and conversing (NOT POSSIBLE! I THOUGHT SO TOO!!!!!!) over a hot meal when suddenly, all of a sudden, all sudden like, in struts that celeb of all celebs. Luckily for you, I snapped a Poe-to (that's a photo of Poe, ingrate)!
As you know, his new film, "Cats and Dogs: A Love Story," is showing down at Sundance this year and--wait, you thought he was dead? Ha! Silly, silly bat. No, E.A. Poe lives eternally off the tears of kittens and the lethargy of frat boys (literally, one hour spent playing Call of Duty 5: Wombat Rising equals thirty minutes of extra life for Mr. Poe).
Moving on, I went over to say hello and we had ourselves a civilized conversation. It went as follows:
POE: Ah, yes. Refill my water, Waiter-Bot.
ME: Right away, sir!
Eventually, after I brought him his food and suggested the Molten Mudslide for dessert (it's a volcano in your mouth!), I explained to him that I was not in fact a server at that establishment but an avid fan of his work. With a grin that would warm the hearts of a thousand white supremacists, he raised his glass to me and said, "The check, please."
I returned to his table, check in hand, to find that he had disappeared (like a Will-o-the-Wisp!) into the thinnest of air (we were pretty high up on the mountain). But he had left behind a napkin, upon which he had written this Poe-m:
The food was awful,
The service, worse.
You should probably fire that shifty-eyed kid.
Seriously.
Bat, we hit it off, Eddie and I. I'm not afraid to say that he's probably my new best friend.
Sincerely,
CL
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