On sex, and pizza. Well, just pizza, really. And a compressed meat product.

I had a hankering for pizza today, as I sometimes do. Brenda suggested the place around on the corner, on 8th between 37th and 38th. I'm generally wary if I don't see a Ray's or a Two Boots sign, but I can't be choosy when I'm out of my element.

The plain slices looked acceptable, and I was quite intrigued by the spinach and sausage pie. I got one slice of each. While I was quite excited about the sausage and spinach slice, I practiced delayed gratification and ate the plain first. Very good - props to Brenda.

One bite into my fancy slice and I knew something was wrong. The sausage tasted like something I have never tasted, but like I had always imagined something I'd never tasted to taste like. The mystery meat product? SPAM. And not the teen-girls-licking-ass variety of spam either. The meat in a can.

I rifled through the spinach to get a better look at this mysterious pizza topping. It. Looked. Just. Like. Spam. Ew.

I was so vomitous after my discovery that I couldn't even eat cookies. And I love cookies. Especially free ones.