So, the last couple of days The Kids…had been home alone as the better half was away on business. It was the first time in awhile that I had the entire place to myself.
That night I made a Boboli pepperoni pizza with the plan of eating 1/2 for dinner and 1/2 for lunch tomorrow. But man, when that pizza came out at 8pm, and I took that first bite…it was like the episode Seinfeld when Elaine eats some of that cake in the office.
I felt like Bruce Banner when he’s hit with the gamma bomb; I stumbled around the apartment, crashing into shit, falling onto the couch, and seriously, it was like I was on shrooms.
With 1/2 the pizza gone, as I went to wrap up the other 1/2, one slice looked up at me and said, “Come on now, baby; I thought we were just getting this party started?”
“No Boboli; I’m saving you for lunch tomorrow”
(Boboli, looking hurt) “You ain’t having a good time?”
“Well, I, I mean yeah but–”
“–I think the sauce on your face says you’re having a good time”
“…you’re right, Boboli….Batdamn-you, you’re right….”
“Look shutup. Come over here. That’s right…that’s right….just nibble and let loose…nibble and let loose…”
Soon, I was dancing and prancing around….by 8:15 the pizza was gone. All of it.
I don’t know how many of you have ever done this before–in college, we’d do that weekly during one summer thanks to a promotion from Dominoes–but it feels pretty fucking gross.
I came to at12am, exhausted and ready for bed, so I slipped into a t-shirt, shorts and my girlfriend’s thong, turned out the light and proceeded to sleep.
Well, not too long. There was a knock on my door at about 1am. It was the police.
Apparently, I blacked out, but according to the police, the following happened:
- Drunk-dialed Mom (“Is yur refridgerader is fucking, I mean *vomit*)
- Threw kick-ass party with neighborhood hipsters (turns out they were homeless people. I think.)
- Dressed-up in girlfriend’s clothing; flashed neighbors neighbors three times (Calls of “there’s a woman with hairy bear tits” flooded the switchboard for two hours
- Made the latest “Yes We Can (Ride this Campaign For All It’s Worth)” video with Will.i.am.
Needless to say, I was embarrassed. I tried to explain that it wasn’t me, it was Boboli, but as I tried to talk, one of the leftover crusts whispered from the kitchen, “Snitches get stitches”.
Plus, I still had a thong on.