| rev:text
| - The following morning, after infiltrating the clan of pizza lovers at my place of work who worship Doughboy's and fight in its name, their deaths be damned, I was about to meet my own...with no other weapons than my fists!
Blades were dodged, strikes were thrown, a small amount of blood was shed.
"FOR DOUGHBOY'S!" they shouted into the shining frost.
"FOR YELP!" I retorted.
The battle stopped.
"So, Darren. What is this Yelp?" one of my black-suited peers asked.
"It's a reviews site and a social networking site."
They dropped their swords, looked at each other, and began to listen to me.
"I just wanted to promote Doughboy's. That's all. I am a warrior for quality. Doughboy's IS quality, right? The more business they get, the longer they'll be around...right?"
"Y'know what, D, you have a point."
"Besides, I just wanted to try them...once."
"Well, we'll let you have some once more, but that's it. We can't have the mongrels getting in on this."
"That's fine."
"Ok, next time we're getting it with meatballs. You in?"
"Of, of course!"
And wouldn't you know the pizza would be better the second time around? Everything I said about the pie has been magnified by my return experience, especially by the dunes of ground chuck, egg, bread crumbs, and herbs.
A flaky, ample-of- meat Italian Hoagie was also had along with scorching, plumpish chicken wings.
"Y'know, man, if you want, you can do this with us regularly. You can hang with us," one of them told me casually, belly full.
"Ahhh. But I must move on. There is more pizza to review, to conquer!."
"You. Are an eater's eater. Darren."
With that, they all bowed to me and I to them. Respect had been earned and was mutual.
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