Fuckity McFuck the Pie

It's Thanksgiving. I could write a list of everything I'm thankful for. But that would be gay. And I haven't been feeling all that thankful lately. Whatev. I'm only human.

But I can tell you this: This morning, Curtis woke me up at 8:20 a.m. to help him make a couple of pumpkin pies. Grrr. I adore my sleep! So I told him to get a can of pumpkin, some cinnamon, brown sugar and pie crust. I had everything else for Gramma Kasper's pie recipe. (Thanks Anne!) So Curt comes back with TWO cans of pumpkin, organic cinnamon, and two funky-ass looking brown wheat pie crusts. Ew. I guess we're making two pies. I send him back for the sugar. He comes back with organic. I think that was the only store open at 8 a.m. on T-Day. He suggests mixing EVERYTHING together instead of making two separate batches. Makes sense.

So we mix it all together and spread some butter on the crust to make it prettier. After pouring pie mix all over the kitchen counter, we stick the pies in the oven. After 15 mintues, I check on the babies and to my horror, the crust is black and there's chunks of yellow egg floating around in the pies. FUCK. Fuck. Fuck.

Then of course Courtney wakes up. FUCK. I'm always trying to prove to her that I can cook, but I continue to burn things, ruin appliances and make her bedroom smell like ass. And there's two burnt pies with yellow chunks floating around and pie mix dripped all over the counter, floor and oven.

T-Day Lesson: Don't make two pies at once. Don't use organic shit. Don't spread butter all over shit to make it "pretty." Don't let Tina cook. Or Curtis.