Do It Now!

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"I have not come to bury Caesar, but to pie him!"

-Marc Antony

            Pieing is an art.  One does not just "throw" a pie.  The pie must be placed directly in the center of the face, followed by a quarter turn.  Then run like hell.  For all the Chefs cared the professor could be well-liked, or even have a nervous breakdown, hanging himself in despair.  Even the simple heart attack could have occurred.  The outcome was not of our concern.  Do it now.  Don't think, just do.  Otherwise we’d wind up like a committee at a board meeting never reaching a firm conclusion, just the inevitable team-playing compromise found amidst the feeble minds of corporate owned brainwashed bleating sheep which are trained, of course, at institutes of higher learning.  Like the cloak and dagger trappings of our calling, the Chefs had to act fast. 

            I was awakened at some early hour, like past noon.

            “Hello?” I said, half awake, as I fumbled with the phone.  The voice on the other end was succinct.          

            "Let's throw pies!" 

            It was the voice of destiny.  Actually it was Marcus.

            “What?”  I said as my head quickly cleared up.

            “Let's throw pies, Billius”, Marcus repeated.

            “What time is it?”

            “One thirty.” 

            “In the afternoon?”  I did not exist on a normal time schedule so my circadian rhythm was always in a state of flux.

            “Yeah man,” Marcus laughed.  “Were you asleep?”


            “I’ll be right over with Les.”

            I suddenly woke up a little more.   “You're coming over now?”

            “Yeah, get ready man, Viva Les Chefs!”  Marcus hung up, leaving me alone, staring at a rolling tray scattered with buds and seeds that was sitting on top of the Lazy Suzan coffee table.

            Les and Marcus picked me up in Les's ride, a 1970 army-green Plymouth             Fury with a black vinyl top, perfect for a getaway car.  It was a quick, straight-six four door.  A Mopar lover’s dream.

            “Where to, gents?", I asked as I got in the back seat taking the joint from             Marcus’s hand as it was passed back to me.

            “We should probably get the pies at the A & P grocery, right?”, Marcus asked.

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