When a person makes a pizza, apparently, that person really gets his hands in there. He kneads the dough and throws it all around if he’s really good. Then he throws on some sauce and then dips his hands into the cheese and then into the toppings and he throws the cheese and the toppings on the pizza with his hands. All while he’s doing this, he’s breathing, he’s breathing while he’s standing over the pizza and using his hands to knead, to dip, to spread your lavish toppings all over the pizza.

I sure am glad that the CEO of one of the largest pizza joints in America has assured us that he can’t afford to offer that kid health insurance.

Enjoy your dinner.

To the driver who made like Richard Petty on my right hand side despite my turn signal, seemingly on purpose to prevent my making my exit and forcing me to tootle my horn on the freeway to force my way into the lane, the same driver who then accelerated and passed me on my left only to take the same said exit, the same driver who, despite her best efforts ended up directly in front of me at the traffic light, and who at the following traffic light failed to exercise her left-on-red right of way, leaving us both stuck in the middle of the intersection, to you, I say, may you have a rewarding and beautiful day.

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