Thursday March 23, 2006
	Pie Judging at Saint Catherine's.
	"Hello Sister," I say. A few years back I was an honorary judge for St. Catherine's annual baking competition (I was a judge on two separate occasions). "Hello Norman," she says then standing. "It's good to see you," I say then extending my hand. "We're short a judge for the pies and you always do such a good job," she says then handing me a big orange envelope. I say: "Thank you Sister Irene." She says: "There's a first place ribbon in the envelope." "I understand," I say. "The pies are in the recreation center," she says.  "Godspeed." "Thanks again Sister," I say then walking out of her office and toward the center. While I'm walking I'm thinking: The Sister must not be aware of my website.  If she was aware of it and my extensive use of profanity she probably wouldn't have called me.  Jeez, maybe she is aware of it and she's pulled me onto the church grounds to perform some sort of exorcism.  Shit.  Maybe there ain't no pies in the recreation center.  Maybe I'm gonna go in there and a bunch of nuns are gonna hold me down.       "Hello," says another Nun I've just walked past. "Good morning Sister," I say.  In the recreation center there are four pies lying atop a table.  Each entry has its own entry form.  On each form the contestant has written something about themselves and/or the pie. Written on the entry form of pie number one: "When my father died I pulled all the apples off a small apple tree in his backyard.  My father had to push his brakes hard and he wasn't buckled up and he went through the windshield of his Grand Marquis and died.  They found his nose resting on the lever that turns on the cruise control.  This pie was made from the apples of a dead man.  That dead man was my father.  God Bless." I figure she's hoping to win 'cause of her sad story (real or imagined).  She doesn't get the ribbon.  For her effort I shove two Magnum XL condoms into the pie.  On her entry in the judges comments section I write:  "Your father should have been wearing his seat belt." Written on the entry form of pie number two: "I've won this competition three years in a row.  It's such an honor.  I grow all my own pumpkins in the exact spot where we found my stepmother lying three years ago.  She had a heart attack.  The authorities think she tried to drag herself to the street but couldn't 'cause her colostomy bag got snagged on a horseshoe stake.  The sun must have caused the bag to pop 'cause there was shit all over the place (on our kids new swing set and all over the bottom of the canoe my husband inherited from his uncle.  I hope you enjoy my pie."  Another one hoping to win 'cause of a sad story.  She doesn't get the ribbon.  For her effort I remove my sock and work it into the pie using one of my cigarettes.  When the cigarette breaks I work that into the pumpkin pie filling also.  On her entry in the judges comments section I write: "Your pie reminds me of shit.  You are shit." Written on the entry form of pie number three:  "My husband is an alcoholic.  Sometimes he doesn't come home for days.  I find that making pies during these times helps me to cope.  I was working on this pie when he recently came home after days of drinking.  When he walked through the front door he said I was an ugly, pimply pie making whore and he accused me of having a stretched out snatch (his favorite word) and then he went to his room and slammed the door and turned on his CB radio.  I can't say for sure but I think I saw a used Magnum XL hanging from his pants zipper and it appeared to be full of semen.  Thank God for baking competitions.  I hope you enjoy my pie.  It is a meat pie made out of desperation with just a dash of hope."     I award her the first place ribbon.  In the judges comments section I write:  "There ain't nothin' worse than a stretched out pussy."  For her effort I shove the hash pipe I've carried around since 1996 into the pie.     Regarding the fourth pie:  It is cherry.  I remove my shoe and beat the pie with the heel.  In the recreation room on the wall is a display of tiny taxidermied animals.  Above the display is a large sign:  GOD LOVES ALL LIVING THINGS.  I remove the Fox Squirrel from the lower shelf and break its head off and then shove the head of the squirrel into the pie. I'm off to Helmet's bar and grill. PREVIOUS   HOME   NEXT