The grASSwipe primitive doesn't know squat about Mormons.

I have it from another member here--one who like me is on sort of a hiatus, taking a breather until the presidential campaign gets underway in earnest this autumn--who swears she spotted someone who
had to be the pie-and-jam primitive, in a suburb of Portland, Oregon, that need not be named; an elderly woman wearing four winter overcoats and three head-scarves, ringing a hand-held bell, pulling a child's little red wagon behind her, going from garage sale to garage sale, droning, "pies for sale, pies for sale, pies for sale," in the bed of the wagon being what had once been real pies, but now melted into unrecognizability by the heat and flies.
If that wasn't the grasswire primitive, I'll eat my hat.