Pamela Davis throws pies: apple pies, cherry pies, blueberry, mulberry. She's even been known to throw a mincemeat when provoked. She throws pies. Take care when pecan's on deck, pecan pies are unforgiving.
Timidly toeing her way out of her mother's womb on a snady beach in SoCal, Pamela, Pam to her friends, wore pink holsters in her youth, a tutu in her early teens, a tatoo in her late teens and bell-bottoms in the San Fransixties.
Pam is responsible for the VW in VW bug. Known as Volkswagon after a lengthy court battle in 1973, VW originally stood for Virginia Woolf. Pam, Pamela to authorities, was known form Tahiti to Newport for driving her VW around, hanging out the window yelling, "Who's afraid, who's afraid?" Pam wasn't afraid, she was armed with a cherry cobbler.
She calmed down in the nineties, burying himself under commas and catheters until she relunctantly peeked out to see her shadow jsut a few years ago. Suffering from fluctuating fears of being seena dn being overlooked, it turned out that her abrubt appearance late last winter was actually a cardboard cutout. Pam's been walking around us in disguise for the last fifteen years.
As it turns out, Davis isn't even her last name. Since 1984 she's gone a symbol, π.
It's her current hope to reunite with someone she knew in paris some twenty years ago. She hasn't yet decided what she'll say when they come face to face, but she has decided on the pie.
It will obviously be lemon, sans meringue.