All of the puntastic goofballs on the internet are celebrating all sorts of pies today, March 14th aka 3/14 aka 3.14 aka Pi Day.
100k+ tweets all jiving about #PiDay. Cherry pie, apple pie, punkin pie, poontang pie, and so on and so forth. The butchers and the bakers and the people in the street are all creaming themselves, across all social media platforms, because of that bullshit number.
Pies fucking blow, and this is my cautionary tale about the dangers of that damned dessert.
It’s hot. The kitchen is filled with six insufferable kids and my mom needs to find a way to keep us all occupied before someone ends up in the hospital or dead. I’m guessing I was maybe 6 or 7 years old at the time but what happened next changed my life forever.
“HEY KIDS, HOW ABOUT A PIE EATING CONTEST?!”
What. The. Fuck.
Of the insufferable six, 5 were girls and then there was me. I don’t ever recall even trying any sort of pie before that moment in my life but you’re not going to not accept a challenge against 5 chicks. Even at 7 years old I knew this would be a piece of cake 😉 so I acted like this was an awesome idea and I was all the way in.
“FUCK YEAH MOM, I WOULD LOVE TO WIN THIS MOTHERFUCKING PIE EATING CONTEST,” I yelled before slamming a jaegerbomb, smashing a steel chair over my head, and ripping my shirt in half Hulk Hogan style.
She called my bluff.
Moments later, a half dozen of these miniature, store bought, personal pies were lined up for all of the bastard kids to stuff their faces with- mine was of the apple variety.
Ready, set, go…
I attacked like an armless, idiot moron zombie hot on the trail of Rick Grimes. That surge lasted all of 12 seconds. Then I became very lightheaded, dizzy even. I glanced at the other end of the table and saw the girls ruthlessly crushing these demonic desserts, giggling as if it were Christm- PUKE. I lost all composure and that disgusting apple pie crawled its way back out of my body and onto the table, much to the delight of the judges and participants. Vomit this way, that way, side ways, all ways.
Chances are I also cried, but I can’t even know that because I literally blacked out in disgust. Disgust of the pie, disgust of myself, disgust of the number 3.14. In a surprise to literally no one, that was the last time I took part in any sort of competitive eating.
It’s nothing short of a miracle that I was able to partially recover and become a somewhat functioning member of American society.
I haven’t touched Apple pie since and I hope they all burn in hell. Stop glorifying #PiDay.
— Boomer & Carton Show (@BoomerandCarton) March 14, 2016