I Wake Pies and Make the Dead.

Okay. I miss Ned The Precious Pie-Maker!

So, I may make a bit of a comeback. 

I’m not quite sure why the police were out tonight at the pub.

Wonder if there was a fight. I saw a bunch of younger pub goers actually coming out as a group. Strangest sight ever. Ugh. If you want to party or be rowdy, that’s what the local Weatherspoon pub is for. If you want a quiet night, that’s what most of the other smaller pubs are for.

Okay. I need sleep. Goodnight.


My dream from last night was all kinds of fucked up.

I swear my friend was baking a pie or something, but the oven malfunctioned, so for some ungodly reason, she popped her head in and came back with half her face burnt. 

I think I went on to say it wasn’t that bad and at least she wouldn’t end up having scars like the ones I received to my thigh from having second degree burns.

Dear god.

I think she was Thranduil in my dream.

Or Thranduil and Ned. (By the way, this is the same friend who kind of looks like a genderbent Lee Pace and wasn’t too happy when I told her she looked like him.)

This is what I get for eating strange popcorn and drinking strawberry-flavoured pear cider too fast.

Oh… and screaming at her for making fun of my phobia. 

I made a mistake. A horrible mistake! I want pie but have none!





Pie in a jar.


Pie in a jar.