Today I was walking down the street when I saw a pie. It pretended to be a normal, innocent desert, but I saw through it's lie. I ran as fast as I could; I wasn't too eager to die. I got to the airport, got on a plane, and flew to the sky. It wasn't until halfway through the flight to Timbuktu, that I noticed it. There flying right next to the plane, just barely visible out of my window, was none other than that dastardly pie. I was in no mood of saying hi. I rushed to the emergency exit, grabbed a conveniately placed parachute, and jumped out as quickly as I could.

It wasn't until I was freefalling through the air that my mind started to question everything that had happened that day. Why did I run from a pie? Why exactly did I get on a plane to Timbuktu? What was in that burrito I ate last night? All these questions went unanswered, for there right before my eyes appeared all 597 calories of saturated evil.

The world came to a standstill, everything faded into nothingness. It was just me, and the pie.

I stared at the pie. It stared back. We stood there for several eternities. Knowledge flowed through my being, the world became unraveled right before my eyes. The pie was never something to be feared, the pie was something to be embraced. I then finally understood that it was impossible to reject the pie; it was already a part of me. The pie is not evil, it is simply a way of life. It is life, it is the very origin of all that was, is, and will be! The pie was I, and I was the pie! It all finally made sense!

And then I woke up in my familiar room in a psychiatric hospital.