Meat Pie

I receive countless letters from fans all over the world requesting me to compose an appeal to our global leaders for peace, love, and happiness. But I hate all my fans, so now I’ll write an essay about meat pies. 

Do you like to savor cow tongue or fish heads? Then I think you’ll enjoy this dish that I made for you. Let’s remove it from the oven. — Ah, take a whiff of that steam! To describe the fragrance, I can only make a comparison: 

One time, a rodent made its way into the central heating system of my old townhome, and the poor thing died there. Soon, its carcass started to rot. My neighbors now looked at me suspiciously: “Are you making a meat pie,” they joked, “or have you just gone too many weeks without bathing again?” 

Eventually my neighbor Al helped me remove one of the sections of tubing from my residence’s ventilation system, and, when we looked inside, there it was: a dead rodent blocking the vent — gaseous, bloated, and decomposing. 

Now here’s a jingle that I wrote:

Meat pies! Buy ’em for a nickel! Best food you’ll ever taste! Eat ’em up until you’re stuffed. They will make you feel as though you have the power to fly. 

Ground beef, turkey, ham, chicken breast, plus a mixture of carrots, celery, candied yams, and string beans. 

People say that money doesn’t grow on trees, but meat pies DO grow on trees. At least they do in MY backyard. 

So, if you’re a woman, then join me in the kitchen and help me to scoop the beef into the blender. Separate the parts of the chicken and toss them in there too. I’ll ask you to place the yams and other vegetables in a plastic bag with some flour and butter, and shake it up. Put all this into a pan, and then add a sack of sugar, a pillar of salt, and a peck of pepper (that’s about a quarter of a bushel). Be careful to protect your hand, or it could end up as part of the pie and add savoriness — you could run the risk of becoming a secret ingredient. Don’t do that. (You don’t want chefs hunting you down to harvest your organs.) 

Now, buy some wood from Builders Square. Make the oven flaming hot, and use a pot holder to fling the pan into the blaze. 

Go purchase an egg-shaped timer & set it for 60 seconds. 

Now head out to the woods and take a shower. When you’re finished, walk over to your desk and sit down in front of your typewriter. Compose an appeal to the globe’s Elite Powers, asking for peace, love, & happiness. Then return to the woods and take a short nap. 

When you start to hear the muffled buzz of the egg timer coming from inside your cabin, run back to the hearth and check on your meat pie — it’s probably done. Now just eat it, using a spoon with your remaining hand.