I must confess. I am a simple man. I like blood, guts, and flaky crust. I know what America wants to see. America wants to see senseless violence, intersecting storylines, and pie. I said to the Thrill Editors, I said “I know what the people want” and they said “what do the people want?” and I said, you know what I said, I said “they want to see Fry. Pie. Wrestling.” A voice broke the silence, “What’s a fry pie?”

What is a fry pie?

In Pennsylvania, we call them “pasties,” but nobody seems to respond to that anywhere else. I’ve always considered fry “pasties” pies to be delicious bloated poptarts with a mucus membrane of some powdered sugar exoskeleton or something. What fry pies aka pasties lack in intelligence they make up for in goop–in the interior you have fruit or another edible food suspended in a bunch of that fruit/food-flavored goop. Just like us, as a matter of fact.

Why pacifist?

Fry pies are a lot of things. They are dapper, they are mouth-breathers, they are timid when speaking on the phone. One thing they are not, and never will be, is violent. Have you ever bitten into a f”pastie”ry pie and feel it split like an egg, you monster? If I just bonked them together like coconuts, there would be nothing to prove. They would all be losers. One thing I am not, on the other hand, is ready to get slick, translucent goop on one of my three (3) shirts. My mom bought them for me and that would make her mad.

I thought it would be a fitting compromise, instead of slapping the pies together like that bunny with the cymbals, to drop the pies from the same height and see which one is more prepared to go to the Spring Formal afterward. It’s like competitive belly-flopping, but on a cardboard box I put on top of a concrete floor. It’s called entertainment.

The rules?

The judging will be deliberate, puritanical, and bittersweet. Cracks, fissures, ouchies–these will all be taken into consideration. If I can see your goop, that’s putting you on the fast track to loser town. I dropped them from the height of one of those like moveable dresser-drawers that come in our dorm rooms because I don’t own a tape-measure or a ruler or one of those angle-measure things with the pointy tongue or whatever.

The fighters

ROUND ONE

Can you believe I did a sports thing (pictured above)? I can’t. But enough about my tragic backstory.

DWAYNE “THE CHOC” JOHNSON (it’s supposed to say Johnson up top but his name is too long sorry) VS CARL

Nobody asked for this. It’s just too gruesome. These fine young pies have families and maybe even utility bills to feed.

I drop the pies.

–? VS NANNY MCPHEAR

So, uh. Sometimes things happen.

Exhibit A,

What do you see? A stunning gorgeous ephemeral fry pie? Yes. But look deeper.

She’s already broken.

For her health, we had to disqualifrypie her. It was as hard for us as it was for her. Plural first person? Yes.

To be fair to all competitors, we dropped –? anyway. It was so deeply satisfying like when you see people you dislike embarrass themselves on television. Justice for Nanny McPhear.

GUY IN YOUR MFA VS 🅱️EACH

THE BIG SANGRIA VS. R.E.D.

It has been 22 years since my last confession. Graham, I went to the Village Market and spent nineteen (19) dollars on eight fry pies and a black cherry soda (delicious). I am a child with an income and a deadline. I post things on a blog that my mother reads. Hi mom.

I dropped two pies.

The differences are subtle, but you might notice two little lips forming in the middle of R.E.D. When the competition is this stiff and high in saturated fat, we really have to split hairs. R.E.D., my friends, is dead.

 

ROUND TWO

CARL VS –?

Do we root for the hometown hero, or the mysterious stranger? They all came from the same shelf at the grocery store so I don’t know which is which.

If I am anything, I am impartial, I am cold, I am justice on a pogo stick. My two favorite things are winning and losing. I wear a crown with a dunce cap in the middle. This is why I am supremely and delectably qualified to drop pies onto the floor.

Please take this moment to thank the people in your life who are small but drowning in their own heart like a sewer rat. Thank the people who make your life blush so much you don’t realize you’re smiling. Thank the people who remember to tell you that they’re so glad you came. It’s all Carl would have wanted. And thank your mamas, you ungrateful goonies.

GUY IN YOUR MFA VS THE BIG SANGRIA

We’re all grateful.

THIRD PLACE MATCH: CARL VS GUY IN YOUR MFA

I must admit, I forgot to get pictures of this one. Carl won. I think we can all agree he deserves it.

FINAL MATCH: –? VS THE BIG SANGRIA

Are you still here?

Ok.

If you’re still here, I appreciate you. Our wrestlers appreciate you too.

What do they say when wrestlers win a wrestle? Do they say thank you? Do they say hit the showers you smell like a welcome mat? Do they say have you seen the Great British Baking Show, the episode where they throw pies at the floor because clearly that’s an activity which proves something, anything?

I don’t know what they say. Maybe they say nothing at all. Maybe they all go home to the lives they haven’t thought about for twenty-four (24) hours. Maybe they sigh their life into the background until the next time they get to elbow-drop onto some kid’s dorm room. Maybe all they want is the music and the tears and the laughter. Maybe that’s all they want. Maybe that’s all they need.