I mean you’ve made peanut butter and jellies before, so how hard could a little pie be? It’s just a matter of getting your ingredients together, right?
Just Jesse runs in between you and One Night Only, snatching your recipe from you. He mutters something deranged about publications and citation formatting, but he is around the corner before you can catch him.
Well, you’ll just have to make do without. You know a great liquor store at the top of the Lyon Street steps that sells Wild Turkey, and what pie would be complete without alcohol? So you set off, taking a detour through Alta Plaza Park, where you see Laps In Judgment staring at you while she circles around. You better hurry, Hand Pump and Saigon Sally told you that they preferred pie over cake for their birthdays, and you plan to deliver.
But you can’t even manage to get the whiskey right, because Titty Boo Boo has snatched it from you already and before you can grab it from his hands, it has made its way over to Buck Fucka and Do Her Well. Do Her Well told you to make the pie in the first place, but you aren’t about to ask her for that bottle back, not with the glare she’s giving you.
Come to find out, the hashers are all following you instead of doing useful things like preheating the oven, picking the fruit, or even just buying a pie from Safeway. Probably because there’s a hole in your bag of flour and like geese heading north for winter they can’t help their instincts.
Twerxes just ran into the oven anyways, and you put your hand over your cranium because now there’s a big crack in the glass. Vagina Dentata hands her a large wooden cock to comfort her. Crabs tells you that you can find a new oven in Aisle Three.
Try My Ass comes up to you and you decline, because you’re pretty sure it’s not a cow pie that Hand Pump and Saigon Sally are interested in, and he wanders off in some direction away from the beer.
Finally, Banana In Public brings you a crust he says he got from a guy on the street corner, and even better it turns out that guy was Good Shit Lollicock, so you are probably ok. Fucker has brought some mincemeat from the UK, and he is saying something about the pound, so you decide to throw it in because you know how hashers like a good pounding.
You need some water, so you ask Muff Daddy and Paki Ass if they can go to the fountain, but they just go into a dark corner together. Weird.
You finally start to assemble the pie, but Just Jaci keeps taking the crust off and Just Ben and Just Cam keep staring at her. LCB’s dog has already eaten all the extra mincemeat, and Shaft is restraining Fluffer from “eating” LCB’s dog.
Cuming Mutha is reading directions out loud, but it’s in Australian, and it turns out to be for trail mix. Bitch’s Bitch and Hoseblower show up about an hour later to translate.
Heracknophobia is trying to tell you something, but I Cunt Hear You is muttering at Dick Ass Mother Fucker in the background, and Dick Simmons flashes you instead so that’s no good.
Weekend at Abba’s and Perfect Woman help you put it in the oven, and Minor 69er jumps in to turn the light off.
At last you’re pretty sure that it’s ready, but you are suddenly surrounded by a strange crowd of people all patting their bulging stomachs and shouting “Fuck You!” or at least that’s what Vagina Dentata tells you. Today Is Monday is on one side of you, and Boner Malfunction is on the other, and Dual Tools is right up your ass and you thought you could count on him as loyal but you guess not. And by the time they stop singing “FHAC-U” about two days later you realize the pie is burnt to bits. There is no pie for the hashers at all.
You know it was a fantastic sight before it got too dark.
You got to the bar, drink your beer, and perk up when someone calls “Tricrapylete” aloud. Fuck the pie, it’s time for karaoke, and that means it’s truly your time to shine.