Jack The Scribbler

Apple pie (Wikipedia)

Pie stuck to a number of phrases, private ones at first and then sentences of ordinary conversation, by slip of the tongue to start with and afterwards defiantly, mixing embarrassment and the refusal to be embarassed. Pie functions as pet name (dear one), as interrogative (are you awake?), as exclamation (how could you say such a thing!).
So near have I approached to that which I vowed I would never use, the edged endearment of the grown-up, the darling of protest if not yet the darling of bitter reproach.
Pie is allied by assonance with my (my Pie), by alliteration with expressive adjectives: poor Pie, precious Pie, pretty Pie.
Occasionally it appears in phrases of estrangement, though its use acts as a guarantee that estrangement is reversible: crusty Pie, poison Pie. piranha Pie.
Written down and rationalized as an irrational number — ? — it loses a little of its sugar. Transported into fake Italian mio Pio — it acquires a register almost operatic. As a double diminutive — as pielet or pilot — it brings into play a fresh set of overtones.

— From Baby Clutch, an essay by Adam Mars-Jones in Granta 27, Summer 1989 issue that carried the theme Death.

On the day, I was barbered in the groin, giving me at my advanced age my first Mohawk. Then ten milligrammes of Valium, backed up by Valium IV. The procedure demanded that the patient be sedated but not comatose, as he had to respond to commands and answer questions. I said to the doctor, ‘I don’t think I’ve been this stoned since 1968.’
‘Few of us have, Mr. Dunne,’ he said, ‘few of us have.’

— From Glitches, a piece that dealt with, among others, his operation, written by Dunne as published in Granta 27: Death, Summer 1989 issue (Picture is from MCDarchives as accessed on Wikipedia)

“Ecstasy is delicious. Or, put it another way, Ecstasy is delicious and I recommend highly, loudly and long that everyone whose health — physical and psychological — does not contraindicate or preclude its ingestion, ought to ingest it. Young/old, man/woman, rich/poor, gay/straight, black/white, saint/sinner, genius/dolt, Christian and Jew and Muslim, Democrat, Republican and Independent, lawmaker and lawbreaker, heartbreaker and soulshaker, the sexually degenerate and sexually celibate, the whole damn Rainbow Coalition. (Am I being deliberately provocative? Of course. As I am being entirely serious.)
Go out, I admonish you, all of you, hie thyselves thither, hit the streets, or collar that neighborhood kid, drum up a contact, do a deal, repair thyselves home, soften the lights, put on some music — the best stuff — pour yourself a pitcher of ice water, perhaps two, keep a tin of Altoids handy, as well as a tube of Vicks inhalant and a couple of packs of mineral ice, make yourself comfortable, lay back and…swallow.
Swallow that pill, let it slide, feel the glide, and relax. Quiet your mind. Calm your soul. An hour from now, perhaps somewhere less, you are going to experience something you have never experienced before. You are going to experience something you will never forget. You are going to experience something that shall forever change such time as remains to you on this earth. You are going to experience something that will halve your life into before and after: BE/AE. You are going to experience something that is, every second of it, delicious — deliciously, positively, unprecendently w-o-n-d-e-r-f-u-l.”

— Anonymous on Confessions of a middle-aged ecstasy eater as published in Granta 74

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Pic from http://sociologycompass.files.wordpress.com/2008/09/ecstacy_monogram.jpg