Ho-made Pies.

Confused by the title of my blog? I'm not trying to sound dirty, that is the name of the restaurant that I made a pit-stop at this afternoon. And yes, it does exist.

* This blog is directly inspired by my dear cousin Megan Jensen, who came up with 53% of this post. I will give her due credit for her humor brilliance. So with that, thank you dear.

Ho-made pies. Yes, this is real.

Ok, the actual name of this place is the Thunderbird Restaurant, located in Mt. Carmel Junction, Utah. Mt. Carmel Junction is 289 miles south of Nowhereville. It's off on it's own little dirt path to the middle of a cloud of dust. The population is smaller than Backwardsville.

On a relaxing Sunday drive this afternoon, myself, my aunt Korilyn, and her dear daughter Megan came to the intersection where this podunk pie palace was located. We had to try it out. We had to experience it. We had to be a part of the in-bred Hooters. I didn't want to be lying on my death-bed, have my grandchildren stare into my eyes and say, "Did you accomplish everything that you wanted to in this life?" I didn't want to give them a deathly gaze back and say, "I wish I would have had my ho-made pies..."

Fade to black.

The prositutional pie-feast was a happening joint we saw as we walked in. The only other customer besides us, was a 79-year old pickle carrying a nice little black lab in her arms. Or was the black lab carrying her? I can't remember. Service wasn't as quick and easy (no pun intended) as I expected for that dunghole. 37 out of the 38 tables were vacant, with their being seven servers goosing each other in the back kitchen.

Our server wasn't a ho. It was a he. Maybe their, pimp-daddy? Possibly.

While waiting for our desserts. We entertained ourselves by reading "Dorothy's collection of Quips and Quotes and Good Clean Jokes."

A hand-made conglomeration of some wise-old sages metaphors and Deep Thoughts. Jack Handy was insulted by this. The first one that I glanced at said, "If you think dropping an atomic bomb will make an explosion, try dropping a girlfriend." Ouch Dorothy, ouch! You know me too well. And no I'm not sitting naked on a bean bag eating Cheetos.

In the background songs by Eminem and Queen were playing. Somewhat humorous as one artist refers to all of the ho's he's had, the other never had a ho in his life. They could have had 50-Cent and John Mayer as well. And maybe Prince, too.

Our pies were served, and I must say I was a little disappointed in our fresh-out-of-the-storage-freezer dessert. I was almost expecting a scantily-clad stripper midget to pop out of my coconut cream concoction. The ho's didn't do me justice. In all honesty, the pie wasn't that bad. For a ho-made pie one would think that the key ingredients would be used condoms and cigarette butts. But that was not the case.

Megan made a brilliant business jest in saying that Ho-Made Pies would make a lot more money if it had a better location, such as Colorado City. They would have to re-name it though. It would be called "Sister Ho-made Pies" instead. Add to that, you would probably receive 9 pies every time you ordered. Yes Mom, 9 Pies!

All in all, it was an entertaining experience, a fun drive. I didn't turn to the waiter after I got done and ask him if it was as good for him as it was for me. Probably should have. The most comical thing I took from this I would have to say, was finding out where Ho-made pies is located geographically.

Right on the banks of the Virgin River.

Location:Mt. Carmel Junction, UT