No Happy Nonsense


November 25th, 2023 | I'll Always Take a Slice

5.8 Minute Read

I want pie, ice cold outta the fridge onto a plate and down the cavernous maw that is my mouth and esophagus and stomach bile. Some of you are already thinking to yourselves, "sure pie is great, but cold? Cold pie?" and to that I will not say anything other than "yes" as I hit the send button on my text message to the Devil, sending him a pin to your location. Another lost soul for his service in exchange for more cold pie.

You know how those beers have color-changing mountains on them so you know when your beer is cold? I made my local bakery start using boxes like that so I know if my pie is ice cold or not. Cold as the rockies, or whatever. We have the Appalachians around here, so cold as them. They ain't cold but they will stick ya in the gut if you cross 'em the wrong way. Just like a good slice o' pie.

* * *

My wife called me the other day, hysterically yelling before I even was able to say "hello" when I answered the phone. I asked her what was wrong.

"Why is the fridge full of pies?! Where is the milk I pumped for Jessica and Jakob?" Jessica and Jakob are our twin newborns. They are amazing little beauties; Jakob looks just like his mother. Jessica has her father's taste for life, and for sugar and fruit stuffed into pastry.

"Hon', I had to make sure Jess had one of each flavor. I don't think we should limit--"

"They need milk, Mike. God dammit." My wife hung up the phone, probably upset that we didn't have enough varieties of pie at home. Luckily for me I'm always thinking ahead, like a baker, baking pies and thinking about baking more pies.

I was already on my way home from the bakery with two dozen obscure flavors like crushed cracker and marshmallow, pepperoncini surprise, and yogurt. The baker had to make them special, they were $50 each plus tax. Little Jess will never know what it is to want for pie. Her mother is filing for sole custody of both the twins.

* * *

Back in high school, I had a few friends who would use the word "pie" to describe pizza. "Yeah, lemme get a large pie," they would say to the man at the counter.


This is incorrect. A large pie has apples in it, or blueberries. It has ornate latticework on the top of it that makes you gasp when you first see it, and then quietly, later that night you're sitting in the bathroom still mulling it over in your mind, and finally a small thought escapes your brain and whispers out, "maybe God herself made that pie." A single tear rolls down your cheek as you realize that you are mortal and you will perish one day.

Some people say that pies have savory foods in it; carrots, peas, potatoes, chickens, horses, etc. This is also incorrect. These are pot-pies, not pies. You'd never call a cherry pie a "cherry pot-pie" the same way you'd never call a chicken and broccoli pot-pie a "chicken and broccoli pie." Learn how words work, idiot. More importantly learn how pie works.

* * *

I went to a Thanksgiving dinner two days ago. We all ate an entire Turkey ourselves, as is tradition. Johnathan didn't finish his mashed potato bucket, so we ignored him for the rest of the night. Everyone else held protocol.

When it was officially time for dessert, we all got into our cars and set out West. We drove fast, the group split between three cars, each carload jockeying to get there first. We were restless, howling into the night as loudly as we could while we hung from the open windows of the cars, our drivers doing donuts at 70 miles per hour and each of us hoping for swift death. We made it to the woods after several hours, the night was tar black and it was hard to see. We all started digging. It was deep, our hands broke open at the joints and blood drooled down the handles of our shovels as we kept chopping into the Earth. After days, we finally found it. A small white box, sealed with a sticker that said "Fresh Baked!" on it.

It was the final pie we would eat in our lives, and we ate it happily in our own grave.

Filed Under: Fiction