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BoldFrankensteinMir




I put up with it when eurocentric goons claimed that American pies were inferior. I bit my tongue and hummed the national anthem, but I would not be rude to those strange foreigners who claimed, with NO proof whatsoever, that their "mincemeat" and their "curry" and their "sheep's organs" half-attempts at pastry were somehow superior to our glorious national celebration that is the chicken-pot-pie. I know, I know. Politics make strange bedfellows. But there is such a thing as too far.

The despicable and delirious fiends that regular this forum's hate-speech hub, welcome hello & racist recipes , would have you believe that pizza- yes, pizza, that most cosmopolitan of foods, is not a pie. I am racked with shame for you, bigots. The Italian anti-defamation league has staged protests around the country- little old Italian ladies, who have rolled and worked their people's traditional pies for centuries, are weeping. For shame.

But it is not just Italians who weep. The whole world is slighted by this miscarriage of taxonomy. In these dark times I have no choice, as a representative unchosen and unconfirmed by my country, but to declare... pie war.

Have at you!

---

Mincemeat pie is not pie the same way Welsh Rarebit isn't words. It's just you having a stroke and thinking old vineyard sweepings are food.



America makes the finest pies in the world because pizza is Earth's most popular pie and Chicago-style deep-dish pizza is the best pizza.. I don't need to post statistics to support any of this it's common sense.



I would rather eat an American cowpie than a british meat pie because then at least I know it was clean food once.



I await your response, "gentlemen" and "ladies".

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Jaded Burnout


The fact that you think your hollow crust holocaust constitutes good eatin' is all that is wrong in the world. You say we are the racists? the big oats? no sir, it is you, for jingoism has overturned your objectivity like a pastry abomination sliding off the edge of the counter to land filling-first onto a dog's face.

This puff pastry piece on the supposed wonders of american cuisine is as tasteless as your cooking.

BoldFrankensteinMir


Tasteless!? Tasteless!?!?!. American food is so overloaded with taste it's a national health crisis- meanwhile the instructions for cooking all British food could be fit onto one of those disgusting socks full of leaves you people drink. "Boil until gray", and end recipe.


Sig by Heather Papps

Jaded Burnout


Four "cups" of salt does not taste make.

BoldFrankensteinMir


I don't need healthcare I have Beef Pot Pie - it was good enough for the bible and it's good enough for me!


Sig by Heather Papps

Manifisto


will there be no end to american impierialism? the expression is "american as apple pie," not "american as an open-faced sandwich with tomato sauce and mozzarella." I think I see the source of your mistake though, which is the belief that chicago-style deep dish is "pizza." it is neither pizza nor pie, it is a casserole, period. I mean, do you also categorize lasagna as a pizza? "hurf de durf, give me a big ol' slice of lasagna pie" said no one ever, except perhaps op, shocking the room into silence.

our founding fathers did not fight and in some cases make the ultimate sacrifice for this pie-eyed nonsense. no, like most serious adults they were hopping mad about having to pay taxes.


ty nesamdoom!

BoldFrankensteinMir


Manifisto posted:

will there be no end to american impierialism? the expression is "american as apple pie," not "american as an open-faced sandwich with tomato sauce and mozzarella." I think I see the source of your mistake though, which is the belief that chicago-style deep dish is "pizza." it is neither pizza nor pie, it is a casserole, period. I mean, do you also categorize lasagna as a pizza? "hurf de durf, give me a big ol' slice of lasagna pie" said no one ever, except perhaps op, shocking the room into silence.

our founding fathers did not fight and in some cases make the ultimate sacrifice for this pie-eyed nonsense. no, like most serious adults they were hopping mad about having to pay taxes.

Leave your unAmerican noodle prejudices out of this, Pennedict Arnold!


Sig by Heather Papps

Manifisto



ty nesamdoom!

Jaded Burnout



these toppings don't run

Barking Gecko

Mahoro says, "Naughty things are bad."

BoldFrankensteinMir posted:

Tasteless!? Tasteless!?!?!. American food is so overloaded with taste it's a national health crisis- meanwhile the instructions for cooking all British food could be fit onto one of those disgusting socks full of leaves you people drink. "Boil until gray", and end recipe.

:agreed:
There are many good reasons to visit the UK, but eating their food is not one of them.

alnilam




Jaded Burnout posted:

these toppings don't run

poverty goat



cheesecake is a pie, but boston cream pie is not.

BoldFrankensteinMir


If I ask any of you "hey if I order a pie will you have a slice" you are most likely going to assume I mean pizza. All other pies are essentially novelties in the modern age, the pizza is the standard-bearer.

FutonForensic


alnilam

Manifisto


google THIS

Groly
Clicked expecting Laurel and Hardy.

BoldFrankensteinMir


If they made a movie called European Pie it would be about a trainspotter in an anorak who has sex with spicy take-out food. Eugene Levy would turn his nose right up at it!

Dick Bastardly

Muttley is SKYNET!!!


Awesome winter sig by Symbolic, love it!

Lovely sig by the masterful Matoi Ryuko, thanks!

Randy Travesty

PHANTOM QUEEN



Randy Travesty

PHANTOM QUEEN


Jaded Burnout posted:

Four "cups" of salt does not taste make.

Excuse me, it does in fact make a "taste," and that "taste" is called "freedom" my friend.


Jaded Burnout


In the beginning it seemed impossible, ridiculous, that two nations with such a "special relationship" could go to war. And over what? Fruit? Gravy? But go to war they did. For the Americans it was a cold war. For the British, it was decidedly hot.

Sergeant Baker of the 42nd Short Crust Infantry surveyed his squad. All children, he thought, barely out of culinary school.

"Jenkins! Tighten that apron!", he yelled as he walked down the line, "And holster that spatula!"

The war had raged on for 73 years now. 73 years of posturing, of compromise, and of death. There was little will to continue on either side, but at some point sense left and recalcitrance took its place.

They were lining up for what they felt was the big push; a last a salt on the North American apple mines. A conscript joked that the war would be "decidered" here. Nobody smiled. They knew the reality, and reality was that they had lost. This was just a last show of force for the REMFs to look good for the papers back home, while the yanks mopped up the gravy.

"Now I know you're all scared. You know what awaits you on the other side of that wall. But we will do our duty, for Blighty, for each other, and for pies."

Dead-eyed they lined up and awaited the whistle. Tense, slow moments, as the night air wafted through the trenches, carrying the sounds of screams from distant fronts, and a few hobos on their way to a windowsill somewhere.

The whistles blasted and the men and women charged, roaring as they went. They scaled the ladders and jumped over the wall, some avoiding the boiling vats of sugar, others less fortunate.

Regrouping, they saw their target; a giant vat of stewing apples, mesmerised by the molten flows of deep convection currants within.

They crawled through barbed wire, and within minutes were torn crews in cherry quagmire. Bleeding, crying, they pressed forward, crossing the sodium fields which just rubbed salt into the wounds.

And suddenly they were there, the sappers attaching explosives to the tank while the others laid down covering flour. One took a stake to the kidney and was quickly replaced. The area was quickly becoming a graveyard of flesh, pumpkin and beef alike.

"Charges primed, Sarge!", yelled the head chef.

"Hand me the trigger, son, and get the hell out of here"

"But Sarge..", his words were cut off as the remaining soldiers were quickly picked off by a hail of almonds. The sergeant ducked behind a lattice crust and stared at the trigger in his hand. So it had come to this.

He thought about his family back home. He thought of meat, and of potatoes. But most of all, most of all, he thought about gravy. And he pushed the button.

A raspberry ripple of explosions curled around the top crust of the apple vat, destabilising the core and causing it to twist violently. Baker watched, overwhelmed by a new and deep inner peace as the boiling mass of fruit raced towards him with an unexpected and terrific beauty. Perhaps, he conceded, perhaps fruit pies are OK sometimes.

And for him, the war was finally over.

alnilam

:eyepop:

Manifisto



yowza


ty nesamdoom!

blaise rascal

"Duke, Duke, Duke, Duke of Pearl...."

Jaded Burnout posted:

In the beginning it seemed impossible, ridiculous, that two nations with such a "special relationship" could go to war. And over what? Fruit? Gravy? But go to war they did. For the Americans it was a cold war. For the British, it was decidedly hot.

Sergeant Baker of the 42nd Short Crust Infantry surveyed his squad. All children, he thought, barely out of culinary school.

"Jenkins! Tighten that apron!", he yelled as he walked down the line, "And holster that spatula!"

The war had raged on for 73 years now. 73 years of posturing, of compromise, and of death. There was little will to continue on either side, but at some point sense left and recalcitrance took its place.

They were lining up for what they felt was the big push; a last a salt on the North American apple mines. A conscript joked that the war would be "decidered" here. Nobody smiled. They knew the reality, and reality was that they had lost. This was just a last show of force for the REMFs to look good for the papers back home, while the yanks mopped up the gravy.

"Now I know you're all scared. You know what awaits you on the other side of that wall. But we will do our duty, for Blighty, for each other, and for pies."

Dead-eyed they lined up and awaited the whistle. Tense, slow moments, as the night air wafted through the trenches, carrying the sounds of screams from distant fronts, and a few hobos on their way to a windowsill somewhere.

The whistles blasted and the men and women charged, roaring as they went. They scaled the ladders and jumped over the wall, some avoiding the boiling vats of sugar, others less fortunate.

Regrouping, they saw their target; a giant vat of stewing apples, mesmerised by the molten flows of deep convection currants within.

They crawled through barbed wire, and within minutes were torn crews in cherry quagmire. Bleeding, crying, they pressed forward, crossing the sodium fields which just rubbed salt into the wounds.

And suddenly they were there, the sappers attaching explosives to the tank while the others laid down covering flour. One took a stake to the kidney and was quickly replaced. The area was quickly becoming a graveyard of flesh, pumpkin and beef alike.

"Charges primed, Sarge!", yelled the head chef.

"Hand me the trigger, son, and get the hell out of here"

"But Sarge..", his words were cut off as the remaining soldiers were quickly picked off by a hail of almonds. The sergeant ducked behind a lattice crust and stared at the trigger in his hand. So it had come to this.

He thought about his family back home. He thought of meat, and of potatoes. But most of all, most of all, he thought about gravy. And he pushed the button.

A raspberry ripple of explosions curled around the top crust of the apple vat, destabilising the core and causing it to twist violently. Baker watched, overwhelmed by a new and deep inner peace as the boiling mass of fruit raced towards him with an unexpected and terrific beauty. Perhaps, he conceded, perhaps fruit pies are OK sometimes.

And for him, the war was finally over.
:tviv:


ty vanisher, ty khanstant

Dick Bastardly

Muttley is SKYNET!!!
*staring slackjawed at the food war*


Awesome winter sig by Symbolic, love it!

Lovely sig by the masterful Matoi Ryuko, thanks!

Dick Bastardly

Muttley is SKYNET!!!
*calmly walking through battlefield*

me: ow the food is hurting me why is this happening


Awesome winter sig by Symbolic, love it!

Lovely sig by the masterful Matoi Ryuko, thanks!

Jaded Burnout


Can yeast bloom on the battlefield?

BoldFrankensteinMir


Jaded Burnout posted:

He thought about his family back home. He thought of meat, and of potatoes.

All Quiche on the Western Front: personal accounts of the blintzkrieg.

Randy Travesty

PHANTOM QUEEN


Jaded Burnout posted:

In the beginning it seemed impossible, ridiculous, that two nations with such a "special relationship" could go to war. And over what? Fruit? Gravy? But go to war they did. For the Americans it was a cold war. For the British, it was decidedly hot.

Sergeant Baker of the 42nd Short Crust Infantry surveyed his squad. All children, he thought, barely out of culinary school.

"Jenkins! Tighten that apron!", he yelled as he walked down the line, "And holster that spatula!"

The war had raged on for 73 years now. 73 years of posturing, of compromise, and of death. There was little will to continue on either side, but at some point sense left and recalcitrance took its place.

They were lining up for what they felt was the big push; a last a salt on the North American apple mines. A conscript joked that the war would be "decidered" here. Nobody smiled. They knew the reality, and reality was that they had lost. This was just a last show of force for the REMFs to look good for the papers back home, while the yanks mopped up the gravy.

"Now I know you're all scared. You know what awaits you on the other side of that wall. But we will do our duty, for Blighty, for each other, and for pies."

Dead-eyed they lined up and awaited the whistle. Tense, slow moments, as the night air wafted through the trenches, carrying the sounds of screams from distant fronts, and a few hobos on their way to a windowsill somewhere.

The whistles blasted and the men and women charged, roaring as they went. They scaled the ladders and jumped over the wall, some avoiding the boiling vats of sugar, others less fortunate.

Regrouping, they saw their target; a giant vat of stewing apples, mesmerised by the molten flows of deep convection currants within.

They crawled through barbed wire, and within minutes were torn crews in cherry quagmire. Bleeding, crying, they pressed forward, crossing the sodium fields which just rubbed salt into the wounds.

And suddenly they were there, the sappers attaching explosives to the tank while the others laid down covering flour. One took a stake to the kidney and was quickly replaced. The area was quickly becoming a graveyard of flesh, pumpkin and beef alike.

"Charges primed, Sarge!", yelled the head chef.

"Hand me the trigger, son, and get the hell out of here"

"But Sarge..", his words were cut off as the remaining soldiers were quickly picked off by a hail of almonds. The sergeant ducked behind a lattice crust and stared at the trigger in his hand. So it had come to this.

He thought about his family back home. He thought of meat, and of potatoes. But most of all, most of all, he thought about gravy. And he pushed the button.

A raspberry ripple of explosions curled around the top crust of the apple vat, destabilising the core and causing it to twist violently. Baker watched, overwhelmed by a new and deep inner peace as the boiling mass of fruit raced towards him with an unexpected and terrific beauty. Perhaps, he conceded, perhaps fruit pies are OK sometimes.

And for him, the war was finally over.


BoldFrankensteinMir posted:

All Quiche on the Western Front: personal accounts of the blintzkrieg.


drilldo squirt

a beautiful, soft meat sack

----------------

drilldo squirt

a beautiful, soft meat sack
This thread has me thinking about eating whole pies with a fork but it's 2 am and I have no pies.

----------------

Jaded Burnout


The year is 3141 and Eurasia is aflame.

A small band of resistance fighters moves across the bone-strewn landscape, sliding between detector grids and drone patrol routes. Gone are the days of nations, of districts, of towns and cities, even forest enclaves and subterranean hideouts are a thing of the past, swallowed and burned by the onslaught from the Sara Lee Empire.

It's been almost 3 years since the machines turned on their masters. Nobody knows the true extent of the failure, least of all these 8 crushed souls struggling across the broken remains of the kin, but there is at least rumour and hope that Terra Americana suffered the same fate.

Hope, that's a funny word. As though anyone could look out across this world and feel hope. But this group is special. This group has The Weapon.

alnilam

Stylized text saying

WORLD WAR II

and then someone unseen connects the top of the II with a tilde ~

FutonForensic


lmao


Farecoal

There he go

alnilam posted:

Stylized text saying

WORLD WAR II

and then someone unseen connects the top of the II with a tilde ~

Nosfereefer

IF YOU FIND THIS POSTER OUTSIDE BYOB, PLEASE RETURN THEM. WE ARE VERY WORRIED AND WE MISS THEM
millions of the best grains from both sides, effectively ground into paste
grinding machines turning out ground meat
the ground only getting thicker by the rains and constant supply of new doughboys
the hellfires of war

makes a nice pie

(USER WAS PUT ON PROBATION FOR THIS POST)

Dick Bastardly

Muttley is SKYNET!!!

Nosfereefer posted:

millions of the best grains from both sides, effectively ground into paste
grinding machines turning out ground meat
the ground only getting thicker by the rains and constant supply of new doughboys
the hellfires of war

makes a nice pie

Mmmmm.... pie

*drool*


Awesome winter sig by Symbolic, love it!

Lovely sig by the masterful Matoi Ryuko, thanks!

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Dungeon Ecology

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the buttons buckling on his shirt,
His smiling face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the marionberry jam
Come gargling from the crumb-covered lips,
Ripe with cinnamon, sweet as the crunch
Of fresh, crisp sugar on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not serve with lemon zest
To children ardent for some flakey pastries,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria esse.



it is glorious and beautiful to pie for ones country

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