At a very young age, I was entrusted with the crucial task of carrying the sole pie baked for my family’s Easter celebration. The distance was not long, merely a few yards from the driveway to the house, yet I barely managed the first step. I stood from the car, took the pie ever so gingerly in my hands, and promptly dropped it face down in the grass. The carnage of my most desperate failure was on full display for the whole world until the next rain would come to wash away my sin. From that moment on, my life would never be the same. Every day since I have watched and waited, looking over my shoulder and waiting for the fateful day that the pie would seek its revenge, spilling my guts near the sidewalk, just as I had done all those years ago. Every tick of the clock I know I am a moment closer to the day that pies attack.
I am Lisl Wiedemann, and I approve this message.
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