Tread on my corns, or tell me a lie,

Just pass me a fried apple pie.
Coming home exhausted after high-school basketball practices, my Mother frequently met me with a platter of freshly fried dried apple pies and a refillable glass of milk. The ritual continued during my visits home from college. Later, my bride had many fine qualities, but fried apple pies were not among them. She claimed they weren’t good for me. Unfortunately, I had to find that little pleasure elsewhere, at 7-Eleven, or such places. Oh, thank Heaven for 7-Eleven, especially on road trips.
I just now made a run to my closest 7-Eleven to stock up. You never know what the European debt crisis or the fiscal cliff might lead to. Unfortunately, as happens in markets, someone must have beaten me to it. They were out of apple Hostess pies; so, I had to settle for a Hostess cherry. I did buy a Mrs Bairds apple pie to see what the future held. I also picked up a Twinkie for my wife, but they only had chocolate fillings left.  By the way, why have Twinkies gotten all the press publicity, along with Ding Dongs and Ho Hos, with the pies not being mentioned at all? That’s just one more black mark on the national press. Cherry pies and chocolate Twinkies clearly represent an inflection point in the decline of American civilization.
Of course, this was a self-inflicted wound, or, rather, another union-inflicted wound. There should be a law to withhold unemployment benefits from the members of the Bakery, Confectionery, Tobacco Workers and Grain Millers International Union who voted themselves and their fellow workers out of work. In addition, should one of them turn up in the household survey of employment, they should automatically be classified as not in the labor force rather than unemployed no matter how much they claim they are looking for work.
(The quote at the beginning was a re-work of the last two lines of a poem on dried apple pies by an author named UNKNOWN.)