Why Pie, Why?

I love pie. Call it a guilty pleasure if you must, but I don’t feel guilty, it’s delicious. I’d eat steak pie until I burst if it wasn’t for society’s rigid standard of beauty making such a diet unacceptable. The pastry, the meat, the gravy… but I digress. I thought I wouldn’t be put off pie, but I was wrong. Very wrong.

It was a trip to Superquinn that ruined my appetite, and a range of award-winning pies. Pies which should have been an instant purchase for someone with my bizarre fetish for meat–filled pastry, but it wasn’t to be. It was the animals you see, the cute little cow and the delightfully happy chick. Oh Pieminister, I don’t want to eat them, I want to hug them.

I’m sure the taste would be fine, even great if the praise is remotely deserved, but what sort of inhuman monster wants to eat the meat of a cartoon cow that peeks from the box so innocently. I certainly don’t. Moo-moo pie. Say it to yourself. (Not out loud, people might hear you.) It hardly sounds like something you should eat. Except the pie element.

And the Cheeky Chick, what a rascal, giggling away at my foolish indecision. Suddenly my mind is filled with images of soft fluffy chicks, as they’re stuffed into a pastry case. Gah, no, I won’t eat it. The poor chickens. I almost became a vegetarian on the spot, but then I remembered trying to eat tofu and rushed to the sausages for respite. Nothing cute about them.

Surely pieminister are aware that this is a marketing disaster, or am I the only person who empathises with the plight of an imaginary creature? It reminded me of a far more subtle version of the fur protestors outside shops with their harrowing images (cliché alert) of dead foxes and minks. Maybe Pieminister are trying to convert us to the veggie cause at enormous expense by killing animals to make pies. Or maybe not.

Possibly they want to make children shout at their parents in shops by making the packaging attractive to them, but children aren’t that clever. Case in point, a child in the nearby Marks and Spencer was attempting to force his oversized head into a plastic bag later that day, while his doting father agonised over cabbages. Plus, these are luxury pies, for the person who wants to eat the food of a shirtless in Decemeber Newcastle United fan, but retain some small amount of class.

It falls to me then to find the target market for these most unusual of edibles, but I can’t, because I’m staring a cartoon cow in its face and regretting every piece of beef I’ve ever eaten. Same goes for the chick, poor thing. How can I eat either animal again? No, it’s pork for me from now on.


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