Slices of Pie

Silence! There is nothing worthwhile that you can say that will make me change my mind. Roar with strength if that satisfies you, destroy lands, shoot the red sky, run up that hill and make a deal with god and come back, let light shine through your peepee of the scoundrel you. But no more requests! No more of this! Go!

But, sir…

Madam.

But, madam… what of the pie? What of the pi? What of our plight? What of our fight? What of your might?

No comment.

Oh, come on.

Do not force me, shallow one. Oh, what a miserable shame it is that people such as I, immaculate, insightful, beautiful, majestic, inteni… intengli… ingelnti… intleg… smart should be forced to endure talk of such pitiful nature. I am but a simple woman with unlimited power, as such, I do not fell any desire to know of your pie.

The pie, please. It would get all dry and horny if I let it unattended. You must help me.

No.

I’ll do anything for you except the thing with my nose. But this feast must happen.

Feast, you say, disgusting tempting dog?

Indeed, sir… madam. You see that I am to get married and me and my friends want to celebrate in the utmost of fun ways. In a way befitting of a gentleman like myself, who has been chaste and pure by only reading erotic fiction. We must have fun in the best of manners.

Which are?

Tits, beer, fries.

And what about the fucking pie?

That’s for later in the evening, after the party is over. After the ketchupless fries.

Fries with pie? Fries after pie? Fries without ketchup? That is the filthiest, stupidest, grossest, least decent, sickest, sleaziest thing any of you has ever said… I like you. Tell me your request again.

I want your feminine majesty, that is you, to help me, the booby groom, divide, the pie, which is the subject of this sentence, to be divided among my nine friends in equal share so that no one feels bad about being left out.

Very well. What is the pie’s radius?

It’s a square pie.

Oh, no! Oh, no!

Uh… yes, it has a perimeter of 40 cm and an area of…

Oh, shut up.

Please, Mother Queen of the Feet.

Very well then. Let me think. You shall divide the pie in 11.11111111111 squared centimeters each. There you go. Thank you very much. Oh, and you shall cut it with… this plastic ruler! You’re welcome.

What? Nothing that you said made any sense, Mrs. Feety, ruler among us.

Is that so? Perhaps you’ll like a solution that made more sense?

Yes, please.

Very well. I have just sent your nine friends to be beheaded. Now, you don’t have any friends and you don’t have to divide your pie. You’re welcome.

What? What… I… I… I… ah… huh… oh… my god… I… my friends! MY FRIENDS!

Now go, my son, my beautiful child. Oh! And iof you are happy with my services, don’t forget to tell your friends about me… oh… I mean… goodbye!