It is twenty minutes to midnight, and I just put a pizza in the oven. It is homemade. Well, ok the crust is from a Betty Crocker mix, and the sauce is Ragu. Daniel advised me to add some Italian seasoning to it, but I just realized I forgot. There are home grown tomatoe slices on it, along with green olives and straw mushrooms. I want it now. I wanted it hours ago. I want pizza.
Have I mentioned that I want pizza?
This may have something to do with a potassium shortage. I'm not sure.
P.S. I'll just be over here gnawing off one or two of my own limbs while I wait for pizza.
Do arms have much potassium?
Not if the person attached to them has a potassium deficiency.
Ha!
Ha ha!
The pizza is out of the oven, steaming and cooling, beckoning to me, calling, weeping for me to eat it. Soon, oh, soon, my pizza, my own.
There is pizza. Pizza is good. There is joy in Mudville tonight.
I also had pizza. I didn't make it myself, so I had to walk a half a block to pick it up.
You are probably not having potassium-fortified pizza like I am. I feel this is a mistake. All pizza should be my pizza.
I'm out of control. Help me.
just eat your pizza, andi, you'll be fine
I have eaten my pizza. I sprinkled potassium chloride on it. Hello, salty goodness.
I'm ok. Really.