| rev:text
| - It's 3am. You and none of your stupid friends are sober enough to just drive to McDonald's to get a few Hot N' Spicy Chicken sandwiches. Everyone has exhausted other chain pizza places. Papa Johns won't help you, Dominoes won't help you, Nobody will help you. Your girlfriend is puking beer vomits out in the bathroom because it's now Sunday morning, and that is the type of couple you are. Hearing the viscous but chunky puke come up has almost made you give up the search for a late night meal that will deliver. Then Kevin opens his dirty mouth: "Dude...Gus's...." A silence falls over the room as your comrades look at you for the Ceasarian thumbs up or down. You have had about 17 beers, so you give it the thumbs up, but there is no applause, for everyone knows what horrors await. You call Gus's New York Pizza Lounge. Through the void, you can vaguely hear the order taker on the phone as drunk douche bags from Old Town try to kill each other off over the madness of douchebaggery and shitty pizza. You look back at Kevin, hoping someone will take the phone from you; hoping someone will put an end to this awful decision, but no. He gives you a nod. You cringe as you order a Pepperoni pizza, for if you try to order anything out of the ordinary, you know the order will come out wrong anyway. Over the phone, you swear that the total was 17.99, but this will all be forgotten in the eon's it will actually take for Hitler's pizza to arrive at your domicile. You have completed the order, and you dare not use your debit card as the possibility of the pizza never arriving looms over your head. Now you and your friends patiently wait for doom. An hour into the wait, and one of your friends decides he is now sober enough to just drive home. 15 minutes pass. Your girlfriend is passed out in the bed. Kevin is waiting with you like a trooper. God bless Kevin. Another 20 minutes. Just as you are about to think you are sober enough to just drive to McDonald's for those Hot N' Spicy Chicken Sandwiches, the phone rings. The delivery guy is outside. You go down to get the pizza which is somehow now 39 dollars. You're already upset about waiting this long for food, and the fight has been this long anyway, so you pay. The driver doesn't even say anything. He just shoves the shit pizza in your face, punches you in the dick, and gives you HIV. You return to Kevin, with a weak victory. Both of you open the box to find naught but a piece of dough baked into a trucker's turds. But you know what? You eat it through a grimace and Kevin dies of dysentery. Your girlfriend breaks up with you on account of the HIV, and the owner comes over and kicks you in the dick just one more time.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)
![[cxml]](/fct/images/cxml_doc.png)
![[csv]](/fct/images/csv_doc.png)
![[text]](/fct/images/ntriples_doc.png)
![[turtle]](/fct/images/n3turtle_doc.png)
![[ld+json]](/fct/images/jsonld_doc.png)
![[rdf+json]](/fct/images/json_doc.png)
![[rdf+xml]](/fct/images/xml_doc.png)
![[atom+xml]](/fct/images/atom_doc.png)
![[html]](/fct/images/html_doc.png)