Siap
24-04-2007, 10:17
A long time ago. I mean like a seriously long time ago. It was a long time ago, but they place was not to far away. Anyway, a long long time ago in a place called Grisham, there was a pie. It was no ordinary pie, for beneath its flaky crust lay a combination of both peaches and blueberries. This in itself made it quite unique, but there was something special about it also. It had the power to permanantly change the course of history. This pie could alter the universe at will. Though the pie was older than time itself, and its breadth deeper than the greatest bowels of space, it came fresh out of the oven and sat in a little tray in the corner window of the Amish bakery.
There was a man named Hank. Hank wore a leather coat, smelled like burning, was drunk and was actually quite ugly. Hank had a drinking problem. But when he wasn't trashed, he was a massage therapist. And a damn fine one. He had a dog named Scott. Scott could talk. Scott earned a living as a lumberjack, and taught ju jitsu in the night. Scott could also fly, but this time he was driving Hank's truck.
Scott drove to the bar. "Hank!" He barked, walking into the bar. "Hank, you are a drunkard and you should change your ways." Scott was also a Lutheran minister. "Come to mass with me today."
"I don' wanna." Hank said, giving the bartender a damn fine massage in exchange for booze.
Meanwhile, Texas Hank was sitting at the bar (Not to be confused with Hank, or Scott, as Texas Hank is from Chicago and Hank is from Texas). Texas Hank stood up. He was a Sherrif in Texas, but he liked Wisconsin better. Because Wisconsin is better. "Ah'm Power-full hungry. Ah'm gunna fetch me some PIE!" (Dramatic Reverb)
"Hey Scott! Let's get some corned-beef hash." The non-Texas variety Hank said.
"Ok." Said Scott.
They drove to the diner. Jay and Silent Bob were there. "Hi Jay and Silent Bob!" Hank and Scott yelled. But then they realized it was only a dream. Scott fell asleep at the wheel, and they crashed through the front window of the grocery store. They woke up when they heard Betty yell "Clean up in aisle five!" Scott was narcoleptic.
"Hey Scott, lets walk to the diner."
"Okay Hank."
So they walked.
Texas Hank walked into the bakery. "Ah gots me a hankerin' (Texan for a craving, not to be confused with Hank or Texas Hank, who speaks fluent Texan. Texas Hank also speaks Portugese) for some PIE!"
"Would you like 3.141592657 slices?" Asked Grunhilda, the local emo kid who was a math major at the local community college, and got a job working at the Amish bakery despite her non-amishness. She told everyone she was Wiccan, but she was really a Dutch Calvinist.
"Just one. Of that there fancy pie."
So she gave him the slice of the pie. And he ate it using no hands. Texas Hank was a messy eater, but Hank, from Texas, though not called Texas Hank, was actually a very neat eater. He one blue ribbon prize at the state fair for eatin' fancy.
Texas Hank's face was covered in blueberry and peaches. "Shee-it! (Texan for feces) Thats some damn shitty (Texan for bad) PIE." Then his spleen ruptured. And he said, "Shee-it, my Spleen (Texan for Spleen) has dun gone and ruptured." Then he exploded into fire. Butterflies flew out of the crater. And the PIE was whole again.
At the diner, Scott and Hank ordered food. Rosie was the lady who worked at the diner. She was ugly also. She gave Scott and Hank their Corn beef Hash. "Hey Scott, I liked your last sermon so much I whipped up some wienerschnitzel that cures narcolepsy." She gave it to him. He ate it messily like a dog does. "That shore was good."
A man sitting at the counter spun around and yelled, "NOOOOO! THAT WAS POISON!"
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Intermission
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Everybody was afraid except Hank and Rosie. "Have no fear thats just Taxes Hank." Then everybody breathed a sigh of relief. Everybody knew Taxes Hank. Taxes Hank worked for the IRS, was the illegitimate son of Texas Hank, and liked to make people think that they got poisoned.
Anyway, Scott was no longer narcoleptic. Hispager went off. "Oh shit! I'm needed!" He ran out the door and flew away. Scott had to go perform heart surgery, because Texas Hank, who is also a cardiovascular surgeon when he's not sherrif in Texas could not be found.
Grunhilda walked into the diner. "What can I get you missy?" Rosie asked.
"God! Leave me alone!" She whined while painting her nails black. "Your nothing but a puppet of the heterosexual white male war machine! God!" But then Rosie hit her in the face with the skillet. "You don't talk back to me missy!" She liked calling whiny emo kids 'missy' and she liked hitting them in the face with a skillet.
***
"Where-where am I? Wha-what happened to my Texan accent?" Texas Hank woke up on the bench. He looked around. "No. It can't be. I can't be here." He started sweating. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" But it was too late. He was in Seattle.
There was a man named Hank. Hank wore a leather coat, smelled like burning, was drunk and was actually quite ugly. Hank had a drinking problem. But when he wasn't trashed, he was a massage therapist. And a damn fine one. He had a dog named Scott. Scott could talk. Scott earned a living as a lumberjack, and taught ju jitsu in the night. Scott could also fly, but this time he was driving Hank's truck.
Scott drove to the bar. "Hank!" He barked, walking into the bar. "Hank, you are a drunkard and you should change your ways." Scott was also a Lutheran minister. "Come to mass with me today."
"I don' wanna." Hank said, giving the bartender a damn fine massage in exchange for booze.
Meanwhile, Texas Hank was sitting at the bar (Not to be confused with Hank, or Scott, as Texas Hank is from Chicago and Hank is from Texas). Texas Hank stood up. He was a Sherrif in Texas, but he liked Wisconsin better. Because Wisconsin is better. "Ah'm Power-full hungry. Ah'm gunna fetch me some PIE!" (Dramatic Reverb)
"Hey Scott! Let's get some corned-beef hash." The non-Texas variety Hank said.
"Ok." Said Scott.
They drove to the diner. Jay and Silent Bob were there. "Hi Jay and Silent Bob!" Hank and Scott yelled. But then they realized it was only a dream. Scott fell asleep at the wheel, and they crashed through the front window of the grocery store. They woke up when they heard Betty yell "Clean up in aisle five!" Scott was narcoleptic.
"Hey Scott, lets walk to the diner."
"Okay Hank."
So they walked.
Texas Hank walked into the bakery. "Ah gots me a hankerin' (Texan for a craving, not to be confused with Hank or Texas Hank, who speaks fluent Texan. Texas Hank also speaks Portugese) for some PIE!"
"Would you like 3.141592657 slices?" Asked Grunhilda, the local emo kid who was a math major at the local community college, and got a job working at the Amish bakery despite her non-amishness. She told everyone she was Wiccan, but she was really a Dutch Calvinist.
"Just one. Of that there fancy pie."
So she gave him the slice of the pie. And he ate it using no hands. Texas Hank was a messy eater, but Hank, from Texas, though not called Texas Hank, was actually a very neat eater. He one blue ribbon prize at the state fair for eatin' fancy.
Texas Hank's face was covered in blueberry and peaches. "Shee-it! (Texan for feces) Thats some damn shitty (Texan for bad) PIE." Then his spleen ruptured. And he said, "Shee-it, my Spleen (Texan for Spleen) has dun gone and ruptured." Then he exploded into fire. Butterflies flew out of the crater. And the PIE was whole again.
At the diner, Scott and Hank ordered food. Rosie was the lady who worked at the diner. She was ugly also. She gave Scott and Hank their Corn beef Hash. "Hey Scott, I liked your last sermon so much I whipped up some wienerschnitzel that cures narcolepsy." She gave it to him. He ate it messily like a dog does. "That shore was good."
A man sitting at the counter spun around and yelled, "NOOOOO! THAT WAS POISON!"
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Intermission
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Everybody was afraid except Hank and Rosie. "Have no fear thats just Taxes Hank." Then everybody breathed a sigh of relief. Everybody knew Taxes Hank. Taxes Hank worked for the IRS, was the illegitimate son of Texas Hank, and liked to make people think that they got poisoned.
Anyway, Scott was no longer narcoleptic. Hispager went off. "Oh shit! I'm needed!" He ran out the door and flew away. Scott had to go perform heart surgery, because Texas Hank, who is also a cardiovascular surgeon when he's not sherrif in Texas could not be found.
Grunhilda walked into the diner. "What can I get you missy?" Rosie asked.
"God! Leave me alone!" She whined while painting her nails black. "Your nothing but a puppet of the heterosexual white male war machine! God!" But then Rosie hit her in the face with the skillet. "You don't talk back to me missy!" She liked calling whiny emo kids 'missy' and she liked hitting them in the face with a skillet.
***
"Where-where am I? Wha-what happened to my Texan accent?" Texas Hank woke up on the bench. He looked around. "No. It can't be. I can't be here." He started sweating. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" But it was too late. He was in Seattle.