Oh my God. That rule is as ingrained in my mind as "righty tighty, lefty loosy" or "i before e except after c," except that the pie rule has no exceptions. Even if it was a strawberry rhubarb and I was allergic to rhubarb and scared of strawberries I would take it and eat it and enjoy my time in the hospital, and then enjoy my time in the loony bin after that. Yeah, her pie is that good. She inspired a pie rule, that alone should be a testament to its amazingness. So when Little Jeffy told me that his mom had sent a pie for me with him on his trip to visit, I wet my pants. Then I changed my pants and then I was just excited.
One hitch though: She didn't send one pie, she sent two pies. One for me and one for That Dick Amanda L-------. That's fine. I don't think That Dick Amanda L------- should be deprived of delicious pie. And I didn't really have a problem with her getting the first choice is delicious pie, either. I was happy with either raspberry or blueberry, so I figured that it would be alright if she got to pick. That was, however, before I knew how devious and terrible she could be when it came to delicious pie. Before I knew that she would throw me under the bus because SHE did not trust in the greatness of all of Little Jeffy's mom's pie. SHE is not a true believer. That's why she put a marshmallow in my pie.
Yeah, that's right. I know you put a marshmallow in my pie, Amanda. I know all about it. I used a coordinated regiment of torture and asking him about it find out what was going on. So here's how it all went down: I cut the delicious blueberry pie that I was awarded into eight slices with a knife. Then, I began working my around the pie, as if I were playing Trivial Pursuit but in reverse, because I was eating the pieces of pie instead of answering questions to fill up the pieces of pie. Duh. I can't believe that I had to explain that to you, Company. Please, try to pay attention. So anyway, I was working my way through the pie, and I was ready to go ahead and have the next piece. So I go into the fridge, pull out the tin, and peel off the cover. And you know what I see? My next victim in the delicious pie slaughter. But it's not all blueberries and gelatin and light, flaky crust. No, no it is not. There is this strange, white mass tucked along the crust.
So immediately, I begin to investigate. It has a slightly bluish tint from all its contact with the surrounding blueberries, and I thought right off that it was congealed fat. Yeah, because I am a high-grade moron I thought that somehow Little Jeffy's mom used SO MUCH LARD making the crust that a big chunk of it congealed right next to the edge of the pie. After about six-tenths of a second of thinking this, however, I realized that I should be wearing a helmet at all times and continued to investigate farther. What I discovered was a big chunk of tasty marshmallow. It seemed out of place, but just like the number one rule of Fight Club is that we never talk about Fight Club, the number two rule of pie is that we never talk about how Little Jeffy's mom makes the pie. Listen, her pie is fantastic, so who am I to question how she goes about making it so? If she puts a marshmallow in there for whatever reason that's what she's got to do. I am all for it. I even thought that maybe she had a habit of leaving a trademark in all her masterpieces, kind of like those guys in Home Alone left the water running in the sink as their calling card during each burglary. I briefly thought that might be behind the mysterious marshmallow and then went ahead and ate it anyway. I mean, how could marshmallow make pie taste bad? Not possible. But it turns out that it wasn't any of those things that put that marshmallow there. Nope, it was That Dick Amanda L-------.
Apparently, That Dick Amanda L-------- couldn't decide between raspberry and blueberry. True, it's a tough decision, I will admit that. But that does not excuse her DIGGING INTO BOTH PIES TO TRY THEM! Oh yeah. She did that. She fucking did that. And it was premeditated. Well guess what, that just added ten more years to your sentence. If you had bumbled your way into it I might be able to give you some mercy, but you did it wantonly and on purpose. That's terrible. So here's the deal Amanda L-------, you have to make amends for this. Reparations if that's what you want to call it, sort of like with the slaves and whatnot. All I want in return for this egregious injustice that you have committed towards me is one of those home-made, blown-out egg Christmas ornaments.
Isn't that simple? Don't you feel that's fair, Company? I think that, because she removed a portion of my great pie goodness and replaced it with marshmallow and covered it up so that I would not know. That's terrible. Think about it like Charles Barkley would say it and it would will be about seventeen times more terrible. So anyway, it's simple. One Christmas ornament made out of an egg, you know, where you poke a little hole in it and blow all the stuff out of the inside, then paint it up with a reindeer or a dog with reindeer horns like the one in The Grinch Who Stole Christmas (hint, hint) and get it to me somehow. That's fair. Because you deprived me of delicious pie. Delicious pie that I would never turn down. Come on, that's pie rule Number One.