Chicken pot pie.  I’ll have the pie.  Pie makes me happy.  Although I guess chicken could too.  Hell, so could pot.  I am easy to please, but when pie crosses my lips its happiness.

If pie was an illegal substance, I am sure I would be breaking the law more often.   I would need a dealer to get a daily “nickel bag” of pie.   Pie cravings probably are not like alcohol DT’s, but I do jones for some Boston Cream Pie.  I would probably sell my VCR and TV to get the hook up for some strawberry rhubarb.  I would even pimp myself for pumpkin or sweet potato pie.

Creme Brulee may not be considered pie, but I would risk it all for the right serving.  Actually, I sometimes feel the need to punk slap someone for not making it right.  When I pay for Creme Brulee, I want a nice carmelized layer on top.  My spoon should ricochet off the surface and take effort to bust through.  A good creme brulee makes me happy.

Too much pie will make me chubby.