Armed with that knowledge, I sallied forth over the muddy river. I was walking around among the sheet grass and the bunch grass, and I looked down, and there was just a hell of a big moose turd. Biggest damn moose turd; that was a real steamer! I looked down at that meadow wafer, and I said to myself "Self, I'm gonna bake up a big moose turd pie." 'Cause if anybody complains about my cookin', they're gonna have to cook. So I tipped that pasture pastry up on edge. I got my shit together, so to speak. And I started rolling it down towards the old cook car
BALUUMP! BALUUMP!
I got it down there and leaned it up against the side, and I climbed up in the cook car, and I baked up a hell of a big pie shell. And I baked that moose turd in as slick as you please. And I cribbed the edges with my thumbs, and laid strips of dough across it, & garnished it with a sprig of parsley, a little paprika. It was beautiful; poetry on a plate. And I served it up for dessert, waiting for the first hint of a complaint. Well, this giant dude comes in, about 5 foot 40; I mean he was big. Throwed himself down like a fool on a stool. Picked up his fork. Took a big bite of that moose turd pie. Well, he threw down his fork, and he let out a bellow, and he yelled...
"My God! That's Moose Turd Pie! ...It's Good, Though!"