Day 3: The Only Erotic Baker in Town, or Painting Myself Into a Corner

One of my first experiences being in a good improv group was taking Billy Merritt's class in "The Documentary" at the UCB. This eventually culminated in a group called The Locals, and we had a run at the UCB for several months. One of our better shows, which I have on tape, was a documentary about an erotic bakery. Federico and I played the owners of the bakery: he striving to be ever more transgressive, by making things like "Holocaust cakes," and I bemoaning the fact that as a chef who had studied in France, I had sunk to these depths.

That may have been in the back of mind during my brainstorm on Monday, when I thought of the simple idea of a woman ordering an erotic cake from her ex-husband. The sketch is interesting, but the woman became sort of an villain, and a very efficient one at that, and by the time she walks out of the scene, the humiliation of the baker seemed both inescapable and unsatisfying. I couldn't for the life of me think of an ending.

I should mention that I've been writing everything out by hand in a notebook, because I cant be trusted at a computer anymore. So I have to type up the sketches if I want to show them to you, the imaginary reader.

And, uh... I think I'll skip this one.

POSTSCRIPT: I did think of an end the next day. It involves a customer recognizing the picture of the woman's boyfriend's penis from a hookup in the gym locker room. Waka waka!