By BEN R. WILLIAMS
I understand your position on pizza night, and I understand why you feel upset. I won’t deny the following points:
Yes, our group of friends has been gathering for pizza night once per month for the last several years.
Yes, we have a long-established tradition of alternating who gets to pick the pizza toppings.
Yes, this month is indeed your turn to pick the pizza toppings.
However, I simply cannot allow you to proceed. In fact, I will not even consider your suggestions as they pertain to pizza toppings.
You see, normally when we meet for pizza, we meet during the first week of the month. Yet this week, we are meeting at the start of the last week of the month. Therefore, I cannot possibly allow you to pick the toppings.
Why’s that? Well, it seems obvious to me, but I guess I’ll walk you through it. You see, the ramifications of your pizza topping choice will carry over into the next month. What if you choose ham and pineapple, or — dare I say it? — anchovies. Either choice will be traumatic, and come the start of next month, we will all still have the lingering taste of your gross pizza on our tongues. Next month is Ted’s month to pick, and how is it fair for your choice to negatively impact the sanctity of Ted’s pizza month?
I know you claim that you want to choose a moderate topping — pepperoni, for example — but frankly, I don’t care. I won’t consider your choice, I won’t eat your pizza, and to be completely honest, I hate you with every fiber of my being. I’m picking this month’s pizza.
I understand why you’re upset, and I won’t deny the following points:
Yes, this is my month to choose the pizza toppings.
Yes, pizza night falls on the 31st of the month.
Yes, I previously told you that you could not choose the pizza toppings on your month because pizza night fell on the last week of the month.
However, this time it’s different. A slender majority of the members of our pizza night group, many of whom were hand-picked by me, support my topping decisions. Therefore, it is my absolute right to choose the toppings that are going to be on the pizza, and by God, you’re going to eat it and you’re going to like it, and if you don’t like it, I’m going to rub your face in the pizza like you’re a fat stupid greasy pizza boy.
Don’t like it? Tough. If your little feelings are so hurt, why don’t you move to a different pizza night? Enjoy your Canadian bacon, loser.
Listen, you can call me a hypocrite all you like. What do you think that’s going to accomplish? Do you think I’m capable of shame or something?
Anyway, I’ve already placed the order. Hope you like pickles, sour cream, and raw oysters, you scum.