Browsing Archives for Pie Near Woman

A new episode of Pie Near Woman is in the works, but Marlboro Man’s fine ass needed to go live tonite.

Got a caption for this photo?

Well… let it rip.

A copy of Bill Bryson’s Walk in the Woods or Malcolm Gladwell’s Blink goes to the winner.

Contest ends this Friday.

Hey everybody!  It’s me!  Pie Near Woman!

I’ve got something amazing to tell you!

I am challenging Bobby Flay to a Thanksgiving Throwdown so that I could finally get my sweet, self deprecating, yet so obviously superior awesomeness on prime time T.V. where I BELONG!

For my throwdown dish, I will be making lime jello with pastel mini-marshmallows because sugar, water and food coloring is what nourishes my soul!

Bobby is going to try to beat me with orange jello and fruit.

Good luck with that Bobby!

I guess he doesn’t know that the only fruit we do in Oklahoma…

is butter.

Doesn’t this green jello so beautifully bring out the highlights in my red hair?

In Oklahoma we mix our marshmallows the cowboy way!

You take an old lady… I’ve got my Ga-Ga here….

Flip her over and use her to stir!

I  keep her under for as long as I can to improve the texture and further oxygenate my Jello!

I just love my Ga-Ga’s hands.

When I was a little girl, I used to sit on my Ga-Ga’s lap and ask her to give me the rings off of her fingers.

Not because I was a greedy materialist who just couldn’t get enough bling, but because uh… because I…

Well…

I guess I really did just want those rings…

Speaking of never ending uncontrollable urges to display my wholly contrived awesomeness to the world…

Bobby and I are ready to be judged for our Jellos!

And who better to judge us than another completely unqualified celebrity chef!

Welcome Trisha Yearwood everyone!

Because she knows what ginger tastes like!

Trisha quickly grabbed two fistfuls of Jello (because that’s how we do it in Oklahoma) and asked me where the hell the potatoes were.

“Where’s the damn potatoes!?!” she screeched.

‘I’m a God damned Oklahoman and I can’t go for more than three hours without a hefty platter sized serving of POTATOES!”

I told her that I had put plenty of potatoes in my Jello.

Because isn’t that what marshmallows are made of?

After that – she just started sucking it down.

What a pro!

She sure knows how to judge a cooking contest!

And then she grabbed me by my ass and threw me across the table saying, “Ree!  Show that damned city boy Bobby exactly where he can stick his fruity no-potato Jello!!”

Wanting to please the judge, I scooped up a handful of my marshmallow Jello de-light and slapped it into Bobby’s non-stop yammering yap.

“Your on my turf  NOW Bobby!”

“Quid Pro Quo!”

But Bobby fought back!

He tried to yam up my never stop stutter trap with a blob of fruit saying something like, “If you would just shut the hell up and let me do the talking, this episode might rise above midwestern mediocrity into something resembling a heart warming Thanksgiving special!”

“Oh Yeah Bobby?”  I retorted, “I think you killed it already with your stupid Thanksgiving trivia quiz and your pointless turkey chalkboard chat!”

But Bobby screamed back at me saying, “Not only is your voice as irritating as a broken wheel in a gerbil cage, but everything you say has all the intelligence of freeze dried baby drool.”

“But Bobby!” I gasped, “I used to breastfeed my babies during your show!”

“See what I mean!” he said.

Bobby fought for control and forced me to admit that I can’t get pancetta in my Pawhuska grocery store!

I was just about to falter when suddenly my crowd of pre-programmed PW Zombies started chanting, “REE, REE, REE, REE, REE, REE!”

The crowd’s robotic enthusiasm renewed my strength and I grasped Bobby around the neck with my thighs yelling back at the undead audience, “BOBBY, BOBBY, BOBBY, BOBBY, BOBBY!”

It may have been the most awkward moment in all of television history!

And then Trisha the judge said her mouth was on fire…

but in a good way.

And after a litany of more judging banality to attempt to prove that she has more food smarts than some guy who only runs a Tulsa restaurant every day of his freaking life, she finally pronounced a wiener!

And the wiener is…

Me!

ME!

I AM THE WIENER!

Sorry Bobby!  But Thanksgiving in Oklahoma is all about the potatoes!

And us Okies always pick other Okies!

Because Thanksgiving should taste like that horrible crap your grandma used to make!

Love ya more’n my luggage,

Pie Near Woman

Hello everyone!  This is Pie Near Woman!

Today I am going to share some of my favorite tips for photoshopping your punks to bloggy perfection.

Here we have a nice little girl.

I really like her cowgirl get-up because it exudes a wholesome, midwestern vibe that makes my stat counter spin out of control.   But her face lacks a little something that I like to call – marketability.

Fortunately, I had another little girl in the back of my pantry whose face has blogability written all over it!  Sadly, her skirt is short enough for a stripper and that doesn’t play well to my broad base of religious homeschoolers.

Let’s photo-chop her!

Remove the head from the first little girl.

This might seem a bit extreme, but if you want to attract the largest demographic on the internet – young fertile women in heat – you have to get down on your hands and knees and push!

Now grab a hold of that prettier little girl in the slut skirt.



Remove her head too.

And simply recombine!

Isn’t she so much more blogworthy now!

Let’s try a boy!

Here we have another merely average looking child that doesn’t exactly exude ‘blog star’.

Seriously!  Would you re-visit a site twenty times a day with kids that look like this?

I am SNOOZING!

There’s only one way to fix a bland little boy.

Grab a hold of a virile cowboy.

Yank off his head.

Snip away the boring blandness…. (shudder).

Haul out the big guns.

And stick it on!

Whenever I see a baby that looks like this….

I start to lactate.

Oh my gosh!

My mammary glands are gushing at the site of these beautiful, bloggable babies!

My flowy shirt is drenched!

See!  Anyone can have beautiful babies like mine!

It’s just a matter of turning your kids into the undead.


Somebody!

Anybody!

Please get me a breast pump before I start to nurse this lap-full of marketable adorableness!

Love ya more’n my luggage!

Pie Near