It's been rather cold around here lately. I know that spring's not really the best time of year in Halifax, and I know to expect clouds, drizzle, fog, mist, and rain. But it's not supposed to be this cold.

I'm walking up the hill towards home. I'd recently left the Seahorse. Because it's chilly out, I stick my hands in my pockets. Eww. What's this? Did I get pie and/or vomit in my pocket? Whatever it was, it was cold, chunky, and slimy. Fuck! Then I think about it for a moment and remember that my jacket had been in the back all night, and was nowhere near the pie eating contest. Bravely, I slide my hand out of my pocket to investigate the stinky mess. The fingers on my left hand are covered with mustard, onions, and sauerkraut. It must've happened when I mooched some of KC's food.

Earlier in the evening, competitor Jonathan Stewart stopped at my place for some pre-contest prep, which was some kind of smoke that made me a bit hungrier. I don't know what it was, it was my first time trying anything like that. I think it's what people call "grass." Then it was time for a trip to the liquor store on our way to see Anya and J. Our new band was supposed to jam, but we just drank our beer quickly while KC got a haircut and we listened to Motley Crue. There was some more of that weird smoke, and by the time I got to the bar, I was feeling nice. The socializing took a little longer than planned (time flies when you're having fun), so I arrived in between the first and second bands. That's too bad; I wanted to catch at least some of the Risky Business set. There was a nice sized crowd there, and everywhere I turned someone was saying something to me about pie.

I ditched someone promptly when I saw Christ at the bar. I can't remember who, and I'm sorry, but seeing him meant that the Burdocks were back in town, and the Hold can get ready for our shows. He told me he saw KC wandering around with 2 beers, and I went on a search for KC.

Sharp Like Knives pulled off a fun set. Honestly, I was drunk by then and distracted. I just wandered around saying hi to Nancy and Seth, and looking for KC. I also was realizing that I was really hungry and soon I was going to have to eat pie, but I was filling up on beer; I was on my fifth or sixth by then. Some people showed up after playing in Matt's garage in Truro and since Special Noise brought their instruments, they played a bit and it was a nice little treat. That's when I saw them bringing out the table and laying out all the pies.

I never really planned to try. I knew I wouldn't win. But once it started, a competitive part of me that I was fairly unaware of came out. I guess I wanted to prove that I could pig out even though I am kinda tiny. I also didn't want to lose, and I didn't. It was fucking gross, though. And I love apple pie. I think it would have been easier with ice cream, because the dry crust was hard to swallow. Before moving onto the next pie, you had to eat the entire one before it, including all the crust. Well into my second pie, I started choking on the crust. When you're enjoying a slice or two, a nice, flaky crust can be appreciated. But when you're cramming as much into your mouth as you can, it gets mucky. I figured I'd eat as much as I could by cleaning out the filling, but it screwed me in the end. I just couldn't swallow the crust. I started rinsing it down with beer, and that helped for a bit, but in the end, I did have to use the fucking bucket.

"I heard you threw up and just kept eating."

Well, I didn't exactly throw up. I gagged, and a little pie came back up into my mouth, but not all the way up from my stomach, but before that happened, I shoved more in my face, so there was no room in my mouth. I tried and tried to make it go back down, but I figured I may as well spit it out and keep going. I remember he held the bucket in front of my face in case I had more, and I pushed it away.

Anyway, Desmond Troyer (of Hell City Love) won, and Jon Epworth came in second.

The table was swiftly shoved off to the side, and Oh God played. I wish I could've enjoyed it more, but I was busy sitting in a chair holding my gut. I then had to lay down on a bench for awhile and moan.

After probably an hour of digesting, I could move around and talk again. I was so stuffed, I couldn't even drink any more beer for a bit. When I began feeling a bit more normal, I grabbed KC's a couple times; I was thirsty. The bar closed, and they kicked us out, and we walked home with those Tragic neighbours of ours. We stopped at one of those vendors on the way. KC didn't stuff his face with pie and was hungry. He got a polish sausage. Some other people got other stuff. Secretly, I wanted my own "dog", but I didn't want anyone to know I was hungry again. After all, I had just drank 7 beer and ate 1.7874 pies. But then again, apple pie ain't exactly a meal. My body still wanted meat. I begged KC for a bite of his, which was pretty rude; he was the real hungry one, and it was now his birthday.

My jacket is now in the washing machine. Maybe the blood stains from 3 and 4 weeks back will come out with the mustard and onion stank.

edit: photos by Coolie, optimus crime.