Actually, it's The Exact Opposite of Home Cooking

As I am currently recovering from a very pleasant, somewhat blurry camping weekend in Jersey, wherein the phrase "bone-nourishing nut-fruit" was burned irrevocably into my brain, I suppose I don't really mind that no one wanted pizza today. Probably everyone has had thier fill of party food, after all the barbecues and decadent Monday-off languishing. I mean, for all I know, these families have been eating ice cream and microwaved taquitos for three days in a row, because they could; because fuck it, I'm not going to work tomorrow or the next day or the next day!! What makes you think I'm gonna cook for you, suckas?? After such an extravagant junk food free-for-all bonanza, these families do not want pizza. They want something lovingly cooked by a caring husband, wife, parent, or state-appointed guardian. I'm thinking Hamburger Helper with peas or some such.

Anyway, I spent most of my seven-hour shift coloring pretty pictures with my manager's four year-old. There was also some throwing of pepperoni at co-workers. Somewhere in there, I made five whole deliveries. I celibrated this fury of tip-gathering by blowing most of my pathetic wad on some home cooking, myself:



Sushi and Rita's. Together at last.