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| - Little Caesar's, this is your life.
My earliest memory of you was picking up one of your nifty two pies in one paper coffin deals with my dad. We were in such a hurry to get home that we floored the 79 Mustang( with horses galloping graphics) right over a huge hill and bottomed out at the foot of said hill. Don't think the car ever ran right after that. I remember your pies having those giant burnt air bubbles on them. It looked like a volcanic moon surface. Your mascot looked like half the dudes in my family( big honker, receding hairline). Then, as others have stated, you left. You said something about going out for a pack of smokes, and I never saw you again. Some dick named Giorgio tried to take your place, but I had moved on.
Then you came back. With a vengeance! Gone were the air bubbles and fancy packaging. Now you are lean and mean. Five bucks, no waiting( usually) out the door. You are like a prize fighter back to kick the crap out of pretenders to the throne. Or total bums like Domino's. A little older, not so flashy, but you get the job done. Football playoffs this weekend. And a short Italian man will be joining me on the couch to cheer on another follicly challenged cartoon back from the dead to utter his patented catchprase, Marv Albert. Yes!! Pizza, pizza. Amen.
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