Author's note: This exists for some reason, but you should read and review every chapter, because I am a very important writer/critic.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to SEGA OF AMERICA. Even you. Especially you.

PIE-LIKE EYE

Chapter One: The Singular

There's a sex joke to be told in regards to Amy's positioning - posthumous albatross Alcatraz - if you would wish to demean one such genet in such a way. Countenance down, posterior skyward, Amy examined the various goos and creams for to filling pie.

The trouble hasn't even begun as such.

One would be favorable to one such genet, quite rather to be sure, for the sake alone of the callipygian genet's enormous resolve to please the 'hog of her dreams. Callipygian was his posture and rumbly was his tumbly in such a demeanor only pie could quell - but what of the filling?

Amy pondered and perused as is her wanton desire to pleasurably please the callipygian genet of her pie in the sky delusion of manhood thrusting itself upon and into her. Forthwith her demeanor to locate and demean such a goo or a cream into a delectable crustacious consumable.
To buy all the cream and the goo in this small establishment? But a farce for the sign next to the filthy Armenian dog wouldst read; "HEDGEHOGS NOT WELCOME: ONLY ONE GOO OR CREAM AS PER SUCH A GENET."
Unfavorable! Such savagery for a fine callipygian genet to be debased and abused in such a way - in such a way you could alliterate that her day was in fact not abuse-free.

"O' my callipygian pie in the sky delusion - my sweet cerulean genet. What filling of goo or cream wouldst thou so humbly devour of mine own doing? Shall it be erubescent? Prunus persica? The forbidden fruit! Ah~! Potahto?!
Nix and again nix. Her parsimonious endeavor was was no more cynosure than it was idiosyncratic. As in, 'twas beginning to feel a bit penultimate.

"Get the fuck out, pinecone," the filthy Armenian dog would dictate, as his wanton idiosyncrasies should manifest. "Closin' time for pinecones was five minutes ago."

"Hold your fleas, you smelly mutt," Amy muttered under her breath, as her expedition was magnanimous in such a still-luminescent emporium. Ebullient was her cupidity for such a goo, and would not be impeded by such a flea-bitten example of notorious devolution.

"What the fuck did you just say to me, sticker-burr? I'll tan yer hide until it hides yer tan you fleshmouth."

'Twas not the fertile genet's intention to nidificate such an establishment of unfavorable purchase - however, the panting of her loins thrust her desire forth to be an osculator of one such fine callipygian genet such as Sonic the Hedgehog.
A coruscance applied liberally to the falsehood of her conviviality.

"Prithee, a moment longer in this boutique and I shall bear the fruits of my own labor for the sake and utilities of goo."

"Nawh. Get the fuck out."

"There can BE ONLY ONE!" the genet implies usufruct of a 1986 moving-picture, Highlander. One might excogitate the inclusion of Raiden from Mortal Kombat in 1995 in such an example of cinema - but this is not how such circumlocution is conducted.

The filthy Armenian dog lacerates his countenance and cranium. "I said get the fuck out. Buy some shit and get the fuck out. Or get the fuck out. Now."
Such a filthy creature would be one to amass benefit from the likes of such tax payers - gratitude due to President Barrack Obama, having displayed much perfidiousness over perspicacious elements.

Amy was outright concupiscent - as were her quivering wanton pudenda.
Sonic's svelte and callipygian chassis formulates extensive salivation in the fertile blush fuchsia genet's cranial cavity.
The mere inkling!

Such a smelly storekeeper would seek sanctuary and solitude in the back office, most abating himself to the forbidden pleasures of interspecies intimacy. As his crude fluids splotched and blotched and specked his coat, proficuous as his fondle, he postulated himself in a fireman's apparel.
To the filthy Armenian dog's consternation, the habitation of the fuchsia genet in this very sanctuary of solitude, his larynx exudes a howl.

"TARNATION! I TOLD YOU TO GET THE FUCK OUT!"

"Prithee, my most cherished and endeared storekeeper! Thou must helpeth I, of such tentative provenance, begst of thee! Antecedent is my acrimony! Scrutinize mine mammories, prithee!" Saline is the fluid which leaks from her countenance. "Accommodate me, I am falling victim to asphyxiation!"

The countenance of the filthy Armenian dog she did espy for but a succinct occasion - disorientation will be the epitaph of this disheveled degenerate mutt - as well as his ill fitting fireman attire.

Gander skyward, the inkling brought the fuchsia genet's scrutiny - from her countenance dripping a tear the size of a humble dwelling.
Crisis and danger, Amy's pudenda quivered.

"COME ON ALREADY." Her pudenda had had enough. "Not gasconading, however my magnanimous endeavor is cynosure cupidity! A bellwether as auspicious as Sonic the Hedgehog is meritorious of my resolution! Something bodacious beyond the hereafter!"

His consideration attained, quite rather to be sure. "Did you say Sonic the Hedgehog!"

"Indubitably! For whom these efforts characterize!"

Anomalistic would the modification of his acumen, suddenly favorable to her plight. Ebulliently he fetches his accoutrements. A goo filled vessel exhaustive with the blastula of Erinaceinae. Oculars agape in shock and bewilderment. Her cranial cavity emanating truculent grumble.

"Unrecompensed specimen?" she inquires. The luminescence of the vessel echoed through the oculars of the callipygan genet's emerald oculars like an ocean of adolescent aqueous.

As he unlocked the flask a pungent redolence permeated the accommodation. Her proboscis appropriated as if by a profligate gelding to an inauspicious palisade acropolis, ensorcelled by its very rectitude. An amalgamation of delectation, disquietude, adulation, disconsolateness and incitement subordinate the fuchsia erinaceinae to a fluctuant vacillating rattletrap, as to "bequeath unto one an exemplification of moisture."

Her phalanges broadcast as the textile is expunged from her metacarpus. Circumspectly she souses the apex of her in dishabille pinky. Upheaval of this tactile member is imminent; as in it supervenes instantaneously. Osculating her sapity blossoms. Whisking her abroad to a purlieu of reverie. What confidence may this vessel adumbrate to engender such exception titilation to her kinesthesia?

"Exclamation!" she exclaims, her correspondence with gravity inauspicious at nonpareil. Fundament covering the mezzanine. Vascular organ walloping the inside of her osseous matter within her mammary glands like a muddled transient in a despoiled hogshead. Intoxicated and empowered by artificial energy and youth, Amy makes a rash decision and slaps her money on the storekeeper's tits before absconding the jar and sequestering out onto the court and down the thoroughfare.

Elapsed is the magenta erinaceinae off into the purview.
Notwithstanding, if this were any other story it would conclude with a simple baking of the pie and the pie's presentation to the callipygan cerulean genet and there amorosity wouldst bloom - but that's not the way it transpired.

Intrusive was his obesity as he ventured to compress his mass through the postern. Conspiracy was aloof and afoot.
Hooded and portly, the enigma squeezed and throttled its way into the establishment, followed by a svelter organism. Cowls extirpated to reveal a bald homosapien with a robust mustache and a gothic 'hog, all crimson and obsidian.

Attitudinizing, the doctor affixes his hand to his own genitals and points skyward - "PINGAS HOOOOOOOO!"

With much disdain, Shadow plays urban music on his phone while the doctor copulates with the atmosphere.

"GIVE. ME. THA. GOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

A pose is struck. The mutt makes a face.
Confusion will be his epitaph.

The doctor unbuckles his pants and squats down, defecating on the filthy Armenian dog's pie filling emporium floor - without wiping, he pulls his trousers up and clasps them tightly - emphasis.

"Hey man. Did you just crap on my floor?"

"I postulate you possess such a goo that the likes of Sonic the Hedgehog would find bodacious beyond the hereafter."

"Uh. Whoops."

"Whoops? What does that mean, Shadow? Whoops? What the fuck is whoops?"

"Means he probably fucked up and sold it to someone else."

Eggman turns a crimson shade of red and perspires profusely. His hankering for having not defecated earlier out of showmanship is mobilized by his desire to defecate out of exasperation.
Drawing his Saturday night special from his cummerbund, Eggman shoots the cashier in the countenance, bespattering encephalon across the cans and jars of pie filling.
Shadow, alarmed, begins to stutter and stammer like an incontinent product of underdevelopment. The doctor walks past the corpse as the Sonic recolor debilitatedly tries to restore his composure to protest.

"Y-y-you!"

"What arst thou?" the doctor calls over his shoulder from the back office. "Some kind of walrus?"

"You can't just kill people like that!"

"Come hither, my little dark one."

"You can't just-"

"I said come hither, do not make me repeat myself."

Shadow approaches, his countenance pale and perspicacious. Condoluum vortable insintentials.
"Bare witness, my little dark one," the doctor continues, gesturing wildly before him.

"Evidence, great," Shadow sighs, "just what we needed."

"Abscond the tape, we'll," Eggman silences Shadow subtly, "But in addition to, discover the whereabouts of our special goo."

The tape reverts to a simpler time in the emporium. Amy Rose, quite the callipygian genet the erinaceinae was. Quite rather, to be sure.

"Oh, dude," Shadow says, "that bitch is staying at the Motel 6 and shit. That's literally down the thoroughfare."

"To the Egg©! For comedic effect!"

"We parked the Egg© further away than the hotel is."

"FOR COMEDIC EFFECT MY BLACKFACED FURRY FRIEND!"

"Uh. Eggman?"

"Hrm?"

"Can I stop playing urban music on my phone now? It's draining the battery."