“Alright, he deserves a break. Let him try that ridiculous, gloriously American pizza.”
A few weeks ago, we informed you of the most beautiful pizza ever concocted- the Pizza Hut Toppings Stuffed Pizza. This glorious conspiracy against your arteries has been unleashed onto America for a limited time only, so we had to get our staff to do a review on it. Unfortunately, most of our staff members only have collegiate degrees in cursing, and our food critic, John Goodman, is on a two week vacation to celebrate his Oscar we stole for him. So we had only one place to turn. We had to turn to the monster we had created, a man hellbent on revenge for the things we had put him through.
That’s right. We had to turn…to [REDACTED]. For those of you unfamiliar with his tale of woe, [REDACTED] is a staff member and investigative journalist whose name has been stricken from all of our documents to protect him from the fact that we once made him eat at a Vegan restaurant. After a series of tricks and cruel assignments, he finally snapped and escaped from our supervision, spending a strange week drinking and ghost-walking piers in Chicago.
He’s been in isolation ever since, regaining his American zeal and, well, sanity through a series of therapeutic procedures, so…hopefully, he’s ready to see the light of day. Because we really want to know if this pizza is any good. We’re guessing it fucking is.
What’s up, assholes? I’m back, and more American than ever. I was waiting for a catch with this assignment, but apparently all they want me to do is eat an incredibly unhealthy pizza and tell them if it’s good or not. I told them that, if I had to guess, it fucking is, but I guess we’re trying to be an actual journalistic establishment or something. Things have really been a lot more profit driven around here ever since that goddamn Huffington Post sale went through, let me tell you.
Anyway, and I swear, given the last few months, I wouldn’t be surprised one bit if this pizza turned out to be made out of Tofu or a Jane Fonda autobiography or some shit, but as soon as it came through the door, my eyes lit up.
Oh yeah. That’ll get you there. I ordered the “Meat Lovers” stuffed crust, where they cram pepperoni, salami, and bacon with cheese into the crust. Granted, you’re saying, “Of course you fucking did” because…well, of course I fucking did.
As for the toppings, I decided to go with jalapenos and mushrooms. I know, you’re all thinking, “Just jalapenos and mushrooms, [REDACTED]? Aren’t you supposed to be all about America?” First of all, shut your fat mouth, I’ve forgotten more about being American than you can even imagine. Second of all, since I’ve already got three toppings in the crust alone any other topping is just bonus. And third, fuck you I have nothing to prove. I’ve seen John Wayne’s goddamn cryogenic chamber, don’t talk to me like you know something about America.
Ahem, anyway. Let’s take a look at this crust…
Look at that fucking thing. You can’t tell where the pizza ends and the crust begins. Right now, a vegetarian just saw this picture, said, “Fuck it,” and started gnawing on a giant salami. That’s a good tasting salami, isn’t it? It’s absolutely going to be worth the eventual gastronomical distress you’re going to get from your body adjusting to digesting something it’s never encountered. Air dropping a box of this pizza into a third world village would be like showing cellular mitosis to a Christian Scientist. They’d have no idea what they were seeing, but would have to assume it was something evil. If this ever gained sentience, it would speak the language “cured meats” and would be named “massive coronary.” Time to take this baby for a test drive.
My stomach just made a series of noises. And I’m about ten years removed from my college stomach acid language tests, but if I had to hazard a guess, my belly just told me, “What the shit is this?” followed immediately by, “Hell yeah keep it coming!” I shall oblige.
Oh…this is…dense. This is seriously dense. I’ve had two bites, but I’m pretty sure most people would be full by now. I can’t imagine anyone but a competitive eater or an AFFotD writer being able to scarf more than two pieces of this thing.
Now, right now, if I were to ask you, “What’s the most insane way I can go about eating the next slice?” you would probably say, “If you rolled it up and ate it in like, 4 bites.”
God, with each bite I am discovering new places to fit food inside my stomach. I feel like I am a host for this pizza, and it’s slowly just…becoming me. Not that I’m complaining. This is absolutely delicious. I just feel like I’m fighting an uphill battle. I’m an American dammit, I don’t…not finish a pizza. I’ve muscled through most of this…all we got left is…
I…I…Oh God, I can’t finish it. Damn it. I’m full. I’m…I’m full!? No…No!
I…I understand now. I understand why they gave me this assignment. Because the pizza can never be finished by just one person. They did this…to show me humility? To show me that even the truest Americans can have their limits? Are they trying to give me a scope of perspective so I can go through life with a more healthy, adjusted outlook?
[Editor’s Note: Nope. We just wanted to know if the pizza was as delicious as it looked.]