Blogger Allows Adult Content!

Pizza. 

I figured I'd weigh in on the subject because why the hell not. Nobody comes here expecting hard content, and that's good because I don't provide hard content. You want hard content? Man are you barking up the wrong Native American!

I don't know why I felt like that sentence needed to end in a declaration. But it did.

Welcome to more of the usual!    

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Facts You Should Know

We here at Apartmento FirstNations depend on pizza for our livelihood. It's true!  The Biker works for a place that designs and manufactures pizza ovens for the worldwide market, and it has an amazing test kitchen where the new designs are tried out, and where chefs come and test out their new recipes prior to releasing new pizzas on an unsuspecting world.  The results are given to the employees to assess. That's right - you have the Biker (and I, because he brings those dogies home) to thank for that Eggplant and Banana abomination. 

-NO! HA HA! We may be fat but we have standards.  But the fact remains - Americas' designer pizza choices are brought to you by the tastebuds of 50 people in Bellingham, Washington.  

People just like these, only more of them resemble The Penguin.  

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I Googled 1950's Bush and This Is What I Got

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I Wrote A Story About Joe Biden

 

The only real pizza is a Neapolitan-style. Fact or fiction?  

I grew up on radioactive milk and Velveeta.  Therefore, the authenticity of any given pizza, as far as my ass is concerned, is determined by whether or not you can see it's reflection in a mirror, like Dracula, or Joe Biden. 

...because he's so old. So, like, he's probably Dracula, because he's...

I know what I mean. 

This thing pictured below is the Pizza Hut Hotdog Bites Pizza, the pizza Joe Biden eats every day.  He tears this shit up. He doesn't care. He's the president. He has a swimming pool of these things hauled in every morning and he jumps off a diving board and just does Pizza Laps all day long.  "Ring ring! It's for you, Mr. President!"  "Fuck off , I'm swimming in pizza and you wish you were me."  

That's what he says.

  

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I'm Thinking About Pizza Too Much

Years and years ago there was a pizza chain called Shakey's here in the PNW.  The one we went to on Foster and Powell was decorated in Murder Basement Noir, with a low ceiling, dim lighting, walls that were thick with cobwebs, and massive benches where you sat like a galley slave and waited. And waited.

Naturally, the pizza blew.

I mean the pizza really blew. Grease pooled on the surface and shimmered in the cups of charred pepperoni; bright orange grease that would run down your arm and harden on the tray as you ate.  I ate a slice once when I was six, and puked on the floor next to the table, and in the car all the way home, and in the bathroom when I got home, and then they gave me Seven-Up and I barfed that, which wasn't too bad, and it wasn't orange either.  

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A Pizza Revolution

Ten years earlier, a pizza revolution had already taken place in Portland, Oregon, in the form of Francines Pizza Jungle!  Who knew?

 

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This chick is not Francine, but she's probably 70 now.

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Meanwhile, little FirstNations (not her above) was growing up, and her local pizzeria hangout was the locally notorious Pietros.  They hired staff exclusively from my high school. That's why I refused to eat there.  I knew those people. The only safe menu item there was the pop. Even then you had to lie to yourself.

It took me years to figure out that this was supposed to represent a tall, skinny chef muffled up in kitchen whites. 

Imagine me in elephant bells, ice cream shoes and a crop top smoking a joint out front here in 1975. Or not. I am not the boss of you.

Pietros was a theme pizzeria, and the theme was 'Wipe your hands on our red-flocked wallpaper'. For unknown reasons, the owners attempted and failed to imitate a Gay Nineties look. See me, I'da gone for the Italian thingamaroo but that' just me. So imagine, then, eating highly suspect pizza in a red and white-striped imitation whorehouse, where a stoned clown clown named Zeezo - on roller skates! - teetered around making balloon animals. 

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A Masked Suckapalooza

        This is what happens.   

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Pizza Links 4 U!!

-Reddit has a disgusting pizza forum!  Scroll down if you are Higher than pterodactyl tits.  

-Here in America we have a pizza delivery business called Dominoes. Its mascot is The Noid.  The Noid is a dude in a red bunny suit who exists to fuck up pizza. That's all he does, is take speed and run around and giggle and fuck up pizza.  Don't ask me what that's about. It's not my fault.  It's what the Noid does.

I was going to provide a link, but I did not.    

-Let's say The Mistress lead you down the primrose path with cake farts, and now you can't stop buffin' the muffin' and/or jerkin' the gherkin thinking about the noisy private parts of others laying on food.  Your genetalia is worn out and you need a bigger fix to itch that bitch.  I have just what you need here:  Pizza-centric porn!!!! 

And a New York slice for you   

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Summing Up  

My husband is a cog in the machineries of Big Pizza, and you owe your pizza selections in small part to his discriminating tastes. 

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Well there you go! You learned about pizza! And...stuff!  

                                         And that's what's important. Learning about stuff.  

                                                                       And you did.