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January 16, 2006
Die Bryant Die
Happy new year me! As indicated previously, I didn’t make any real resolutions. The fuck would I?
So I was up late last night watching singles ads smoking a bong with my dick in my hand ... I saw an ad for a new singles website called Red Hot Pie. I do NOT understand how that is meant to be sexy.
‘Babe I want to smother your naked body with red hot pie then lick it off.’
‘Baby I want to stick it in your red hot pie.’
‘Why don’t you come around to my place for some red hot pie, if you know what I mean?’
Speaking of pies – Kent and I were driving back from Canberra on thursday, and we stopped at this service station run by troglodytes with their name tags on backwards. I bought myself a curry pie. The brand of pie was ‘Bryants Pies’.
Now I’m not saying it was a bad pie BUT if I had a button I could press to murder Bryant in his sleep, I would press it. I would sterilise his children so there is no chance of his shoddy pie making genes being passed into future generations.
For a start, I hate foods that trick me into eating peas. Peas were riddled through this pie like green tumours. And if you turn to the ingredients list on the back it does NOT list peas, or potato, or any of the other filth Bryant scratched out from under his fingernails to make this pie. On closer inspection of the packet I realised why this is – it’s because the packet actually says its a plain pie, whilst only a little hand scrawled sticker on the front says 'curry'. Bryant is such a six toed broom handle of a man that he can’t even tell which of his foul creations are which. I wouldn’t be surprised if he makes all the pies the same way, then gets drunk and decides what flavour he’s going to pretend they are.
The heating instructions read:
Heat oven to 175 degrees. Insert pie for 20 mins. Remove. Stand two mins.
This is wrong. What they should actually read is:
Place pie in a deep pit in the ground and cover with warm peat. Wait ten days or until you forget, whichever comes first. Count yourself lucky.
The label also says these pies are ‘famous quality’. Pie makers everywhere are always claiming their pies to be famous! You can’t go into a pie shop in some backwater town that doesn’t have ‘famous’ pies. Which makes me wonder, is it the specific pies the pie shop makes that are famous, or is it the pies themselves? As in
‘Mate, you ever had one of them meat pies?’
‘Nah mate, but I’ve heard about them – people say they’re great.’
Anyway, there is an address on the back of the packet, so I’ve written Bryant a letter to express my regard for his pies, which I include immediately:
Dear Bryant
I am writing to express my dissatisfaction with your pie products, one of which I was recently unfortunate enough to systematically put into my own body. If my body is a temple, then your pie was a suicide bomber. One who doesn’t wash or shave, so when he explodes there are bits of smelly hairy gristle all over the goddamn shop.
Let me be clearer.
If I was ever on a mysterious planet and found a cave full of strange eggs that opened as I got close, I would much prefer that an alien face hugger jumped out and wrapped itself around my head in order to force its murderous offspring into my stomach than experience one of your pies shooting out into my face.
I do not want a refund, as I never wish to come into contact with anything you have touched ever again. Also I would be too afraid that I would receive a fifty cent piece with a sticker on it that says two dollars.
Instead I deliver you this warning. If ever I am at your factory in Golburn, I will make an effort to spit on every door handle in the place. I will pick my nose and then turn all your light switches on and off. And I may sterilise your children.
I would not be surprised if you are your own mongoloid half brother and thus cannot read this, so to the person reading this out to the stew of recessive genes bubbling in the corner called Bryant, please punch him in the balls as part of this message.
Yours sincerely,
Sam Bowring
Posted by Sam Bowring at January 16, 2006 09:29 PM