Yesterday I was making pirogies for my mum, and there were two that wouldn't separate. We called them gay because they had the same type of filling. Seriously. I boiled them, poked them, pulled them, stirred them - these pirogies were fucking dedicated. They ended up in my mum's bowl, and she said 'I can't cut them apart. These gay pirogies are just so in love and so scared. It isn't right.' I ate them in one massive bite, and we agreed it was a bitter-sweet end to their gay pirogi story.