The Road to Pie
The road to pie is paved with good intentions. Those intentions consist mainly of 250 sour, surly cherries and some pastry dough. When the head Pie Sniffer of Hell wants pie on a certain day it is unwise to refuse her.
But the road pie is not un-rocky. There are bumps and potholes everywhere. However, I am not without resources, you know. I’m all about comfort and technology; but when my motorized assistants breakdown, there is always the old school approach: making pastry by hand.
“This is how pie would be made in the post-electric age of Revolution. Take that JJ Abrams.” I said to myself. “When the zombie apocalypse happens, I will still be able to make pastry,” I consoled myself, squeezing and rubbing butter into flour. “I can make pastry with my bare hands. That’s sooo raw!” In this way, I cheered myself on to make a pie for Hell’s minions.
Tuesday morning, I stacked the hot pie on top of the remaining half of yesterday’s pie creating a pie basket double decker. I shuffled to the subway in the white heat of the morning. The train to Hell was impossibly crowded and so I rode standing with the basket in the crook of one arm, holding on to the overhead rail with the other. Each time the train jerked or lurched the smell of warm fruit and butter wafted about my immediate vicinity.
The basket came to rest by my desk until after lunch when the Pie Sniffer summoned all of Hell’s henchmen.
The pen filled with them. They were all there, a veritable Who’s Who: Satan, Lucifer, Beelzebub…you name it. And within ten minutes the pie was distributed and the pie pans were empty. If you don’t believe me here are the before and after pictures to prove it.
That is when the Opinion Minion entered the pen. Awk. Ward. Very. Awk. Ward. But as they say around here, “Pie is Hell.”