I know I haven’t been updating this very often at this point. Unfortunately, life has left me with little time to play with my tech toys, soon I will be comming up with some more projects for you to read about and even try at home. Yup kids, try this at home. (j/k) So as filler material I am going to repost a piece of writing done by a friend of mine.
Titled: PIE
The dismal tone of finality asserted a fate no other than abject despair and disappointment as the dissonant syllables clashed against my eardrums…
“I’m sorry, we don’t have apple pie.” She said.
Some type of salty discharge began cascading down my face in an unrelenting torrent. “Fuck you!” I repeatedly moaned, punching my steering wheel in a convulsing fit of rage. “Every time, every fucking time, you gotta do it to me” I shouted in an indiscernible clamor.
“I wanna talk to Ronald, get me Ronald!” I demanded, stomping on the brake and throwing the gear into park. A man wearing a headset and thin clip-on tie came to the window. He was kind of greasy, thin and gaunt, and looked as if he was laboring to grow an 80’s mustache, however I suspect that this was not a deliberate attempt to be fashionable. He appeared tired and possibly hung-over, struggling to repress the frightened and annoyed look on his face.
He didn’t look like Ronald MacDonald. He wasn’t wearing any make up and did not have a spherical red nose.
He spoke:
“Can I help you sir?”
“Yeah” I said “are you Ronald?”
“Yes” he replied.
“How come you don’t have any pie?” I asked.
“I’m sorry we’re all out of apple pie today” he answered, adding “could I offer you a complimentary parfait instead?”
“Parfait? What the fuck is parfait?” I asked.
“Oh it’s really good” he said “Its yogurt, fruit, and nuts layered in a cup. It’s a much healthier alternative to ice cream or pie.
“
To which I retorted “Healthier? You don’t look like you’ve got too much to live for. What are you one of those fitness freaks? Fuck you, get me a fucking apple pie asshole.
“
Ronald sighed, looked down and said “I’m sorry sir, we don’t have any apple pie today.
“
“Yeah fine Ron, OK, gimme one of those fartpay things.
“
“A parfait?” he clarified.
“Yeah fine, just give it to me.
“
He disappeared as I sat fuming, muttering a tirade of derision “fucking corporate oppressor fascist motherfucker. Fucking pie, fucking don’t have pie…?” A horn sounded, as the patrons eagerly lined up behind me grew increasingly impatient. Unknowingly, they too stood to inherit this bitter unjust fate.
It seemed like this waiting would never end, and by now I had lost my appetite. I grew weary, awash in a sea of apathy and indifference. A wave of numbness coursed through my limbs and now I sat a heaping pile of flesh, too weak to remain cognizant. A blurry figure loomed to my left, and I heard who I now assume was Ronald say “here you go.” as I found myself holding a clear plastic cup of cold gelatinous goo and different colored geometric shapes. I loosened the cap, held the cup to my face and drew in a breath through my nose. My olfaction detected a putrid mixture of fermented milk and crappy fruit. I exhaled with a grimace, and violently launched the cup through the window, striking Ron directly in the abdomen. The fermented milk substance and supposed fruit concoction splattered all over Ron’s tie.
Now Ron was as pissed as I was.
In a mountain-man bellow he ripped the tie from his neck and threw it on the ground in a violent motion. He lowered his head, reached out in front of him and jumped through the window in a charging fashion. I panicked, and scrambled to get the car in gear, inadvertently putting it in reverse. My car jerked backwards into the car behind me denting the fender. Simultaneously, Ronald clung to my windshield pulling him out of the window onto the hood of my car. Seeing that his aggressive advance was inevitable, I jammed the gear into drive as he tumbled forward onto the pavement, subsequently running him over.
The shrill screams of terror were louder than the screech of my tires as they echoed off the drive through concrete, and continue to resonate in memory. I was gonna be damned if Ronald MacFuckinDonald was gonna get the drop on me.
It turns out it wasn’t even Ronald MacDonald. It was just some guy named Ron Cormier or something that happened to be the assistant manager on duty that day. Evidently Ronald MacDonald isn’t even the MacDonald’s CEO. He’s not even a real person. Ronald MacDonald is a corporate spokes figure. I was confused by this, disillusioned and hurt.
Anyway, this Ron Cormier a quadriplegic now, trying to suck apple pie through a straw. I’ve visited him in the hospital several times. He still wants to kill me evidently, but obviously he can’t do anything about it. I mean, I said I’m sorry and everything but he’s gotta stop living in the past. I tried to cheer him up, but he just sits there.
I guess sometimes you can’t get apple pie.
