We screwed up this time. We’ve screwed up plenty of times, embroiled in shenanigans and hell-raising, but this one really took the cake…or rather…the pie. It was as if we had stared out into the heavens above and yelled, demanding for God to strike us down right then and there. It had just been a casual get-together, the lads coming together for some Arnold Palmers while we watched dumb YouTube videos until 3:00 am, and had our Socratic seminar in cracker barrel philosophy as the delirium of sleep deprivation bit its way. We got hungry, our stomachs growled and barked in anger, which we tried to ignore. But soon, the uproar was drowning out the latest trolley problem variation we had proposed. We rummaged through the fridge, where there surely lurked something to satisfy our cravings. 

The freezer swung open and there it was: one cardboard Pandora’s box of cryogenic Italy, the freezer pizza. Of course, we couldn’t just gaslight ourselves into enjoying the frozen pizza. Oh, the hubris! If only we had known better, known what our arrogant ways would bring, but we never listened, we were kids, we thought we could do anything, those company slogans held no higher prophecy. At first, they were of little faith in me, I would have to prove them wrong. If only I had seen their initial judgments as the omens they were. 

Knowing no caution I marched and galloped and strutted the kitchen like a ballerina, not knowing that I played the role of Pierrot, and as a clown and fool, the last laugh would be on me. Cabinets and drawers swung open as I tore through like a hurricane, selecting spices and toppings in a culinary roulette. Who knew what would come next. I’m sure I had the full Simon and Garfunkel special with parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. Soon, it would be our time. I sniffed the ingredients with the trained schnoz of a sommelier, pairing ingredients in unexpected yet melodious fashions that had likely never been before, nor would they again, be it in cookbook or grimoire, where it would more likely belong. 

The ratios were carefully tweaked and balanced, a truly delicate art, until they produced just the right effect upon the nostril. This would be it, The Pizza. Into the oven it went, to be forged within that cauldron. Its aroma filled the air, offering a glimpse into its offerings, a little teaser of a show. Salivation and anticipation were the words to describe it. “Ping!” came the alarm. Sometimes it is not the bell that tolls for thee, but a kitchen oven. Without even putting on oven mitts, I plunged my hands into those depths and pulled my creation from its fiery womb. Cheese and sauce sputtered and bubbled, I had nearly created life, I was the pizza god, I was the Prometheus of Pizza, I had shaped that prepackaged stuff into this. I could hardly wait for it to cool, though should such food even be eaten? We now know that it should not, it should never even exist in this domain. We made the first slices, divvying up territorial lines of this heaven. 

Those first bites, they took mankind to new realms that it had never ventured to before, had never meant to, and had not been built or given permission to. It wasn’t just any pizza. This was The Pizza, the Platonic form of pizza, the non-physical, timeless, absolute, and unchangeable essence of all pizza, of which all pizzas in the physical world are merely imitations. We had broken out of Plato’s cave. 

“Oh my god dude, this is like, actually the best pizza I’ve ever had, no joke.”

“I think we may have outpizza’d the hut.”

A tangible and screaming silence took hold of the room, all eyes turned to him, faces were carvings of shock, awe, horror, pure disbelief.

“What did you just say?”

“Yeah, seriously, what did you just say?”

“Well, I was just saying, you know, this is the best damn pizza I’ve ever had. I think we outpizza’d the hut.”

“I think so too.”

“Can we do that? Can we say that?”

The smell of pizza grew stronger, but this time, you must imagine that pizza scent with a hint of evil to it, with notes of impending doom. You should know that when the moon actually hits your eye like a big pizza pie, it is the end. Gone were the walls of the room, and the ceiling, and the floor Dan’s dog had taken a dump on. Gone was everything, all of a sudden, we were…somewhere. I would cry out, scream into this void for an answer. We all would, if only our mouths of cheese and sauce would permit us. Eaten bit by bit and restored again over and over…

I have dough mouth, and I must scream.