Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

Even the Dogs Wouldn't Eat It

I bought a Mama Reno's Pizza Pack, you know, the thin, "pizza" with some kind of tasteless red stuff on the top, paper thin slices of "pepperoni," and seven shreds of white stuff sprinkled on top of a crust that is left over from the white, tasteless, starch planes out of which Catholics cut little round hosts. They are usually packed in pairs because if there was only one, people could take them out of the store because they are invisible if looked at edge-on. In case you don't understand, I drew a schematic (that's engineer-talk).

Anyway, I thought I would bake the second one for lunch, the first one having been made according to the instructions, which are printed in 3-point type on the little label. The first one was way underdone ... and it was late at night ... I mean, I did eat a couple pieces ... and it tasted terrible, but hey ... if it tastes that bad, it must not be fattening; otherwise, it would taste good.

Today, I thought I'd vary the baking process. I fired up the oven and the baking stone, setting it at 450 F, and I let it warm up for a while. Actually, I got to working and forgot about it for a while. So, later, it crossed my mind that I hadn't eaten lunch and about an hour ago ... 2 o'clock ... I put the pizza in the oven. I went back to working and 45 minutes later smelled something. Mmmmm ... pizza. They must put some kind of artificial odor in the pizza because they smell okay when they are baked.

I went down to get my lunch, pushed the button on the espresso machine and drew three shots ... it's all fucking automatic ... it did tell me to fill the water "reservoir" ... you know those fancy espresso machines ... they can't just say "tank;" they gotta be all continental and use French -- "reservoir."

I had the espresso in the cup on the counter and went to the oven to get the pizza. It didn't look good at all. It was all dark with darker little circles on it. Burned to a fuckin' crisp. Well, not all the way through. The bottom was still kind of off-white ... the color of asbestos, probably. I did cut saw crack it into four pieces. And Scout the Beagle was sitting there, looking at me. And Sheba the Boxer was standing there, saliva dripping from her mouth. So, I left the pizza on the board thingy and started to carry it to the front door to fling the pizza out the door, intending for the dogs to chase after the four pieces. Well, I did eventually do that, but only after knocking over the cup of espresso, which I did clean up. The dogs were getting quite eager at that point; so, I flung the pizza out the door, and they rough-housed after it.

They sniffed at the pizza. Scout may have licked a piece. Sheba walked away, growling under her breath. Scout looked back at me with disdain. I closed the door. I suppose that I will have to go clean it up when I leave for the post office, which is right about now.