Sunday, January 24, 2016

The Night of the Pizza Predicament

Life goals.  Bucket lists.  Travel, swimming with sharks, naked skydiving.  Me, I want to eat an entire pizza.  Not one of those personal artisanal numbers.  I mean a New York City 24 inch in diameter eight slice glory monster.  Why fall naked out of an airplane, one that's flying no less when I can consume 10,000 calories of cheese and bread in one sitting?
While this was not the actual pizza, it may have well been...
I've come close several times.  I can get four slices down easy.  The secret is no liquids.  The fifth slice feels like a brick in my hands and then I tap out.  I end up having nightmares of being chased by giant pepperoni vampires and garlic knot zombies.  After a sip of anything it feels like adding water to cement.  First comes expansion, then pain and bloating.  It looks like I swallowed the Death Star and it feels like someone is trying to torpedo the thermal exhaust port.  
Tonight would be different.  Tonight I would make another run at my bucket goal.  
It arrived hot and steamy and ginormous, half-pepperoni half-chicken.  I opened the box, we stared at each other and so it began.  The first slice, pepperoni was savory and succulent.  The sauce to cheese ratio was perfect.  It was a crispy chewy delight.  The second slice, loaded with breaded fried chicken was just as lovely.  This was gonna be a breeze.  I alternated slices until I got through number four.  
I picked up number five and dug in.  Halfway through I got the first warning.  Maximum capacity was approaching.  I ignored the warning and shoved it in.  There were three slices left in the box mocking me, taunting me.  My brain was telling me tales of cholesterol and calories and my stomach was hinting at a night of raging discomfort but I was so close.
I swallowed hard and went for the sixth.  It wasn't as hot or succulent but it was still pizza.  The oil settled on top of each slice of calorie dense pepperoni.  I took more bites before swallowing as if eating five and chewing the sixth counted.  It didn't, I had to swallow.  It was a big cheesy ball that forced itself down burning and churning.  As soon as it hit my stomach I knew it was over.  I'd reached maximum density, bursting pressure.  Any more would mean blowing a valve somewhere inside and that would be hard to explain the emergency room staff. 
 "Doctor, this man has undigested pizza in his lungs and kidneys."   "Yes, I've seen this before.  Another victim of orgiastic pizza consumption.  I'll need a scalpel, a few rubber bands and a wet-vac."
I fell back into the chair all sweaty, heart racing.  A heart attack would be the only excuse to stop.  I almost welcomed it.  I could no longer feel my arms or my feet.  Oil and goo were all over my face because I forgot napkins.  I had to open my pants to allow for the coming expansion.  I pushed myself up and reached for the seventh cold slice.  I rolled, fell off the chair and crashed to the floor.  I heard the last two slices giggling in hysterics, they'd won again.  But not before I reminded them that I had indeed finished six slices.  
With a burning small moon in my gut and pepperoni giggling above, I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. 

So close.  


  1. Oh. My. Goddess!!!

    I'm laughing so hard I can barely see to type through the tears.

  2. You crack me up! Anybody who says they're full after 2 slices is such a liar! Rock on Tom....

  3. You crack me up! Keep trying young grasshopper. I'll buy you a muumuu.

  4. You crack me up! Keep trying young grasshopper. I'll buy you a muumuu.