Lover?
My delightful wife and I declared tonight a wash in terms of dinner preparation. We're both too beat for much besides eating and a good, clean game of gin rummy. Star Pizza - It Never Fails to Deliver (get it? Hyuk!)
David Cross fails to deliver more than I'd like him to. Often, it seems that he doesn't respect the intelligence of his audience and resorts to hackiness (cf, the letter to Larry the Cable Guy.) And even then, he's mostly funny.
Mr. Cross stands on the right side of most issues, so you can't really give him much static for the contents of the routine I've posted. It's one of my personal desert island routines, and it's a perfect post for Pizza Night.
Happily, my wife and I didn't go through the folderol that Cross captures with Swiss-like timing and precision. I did describe Gorgonzola as a "cross between blue cheese and Velveeta," but I didn't recommend "hours-long Bud Light braised 'coon" as an add on, so I not only got off the farm, but I also thrived since fleeing. I opted for the swamp? Alas, my dear friends, another blog post.
Star Pizza insisted that I'd never called from my own number before, so they called me back to ensure that I wasn't placing a prank order of twelve pizzas, like in that one old Saturday Night Live sketch. The one in which Steve Martin plays the Roman Centurion. You know it already (no video anywhere? Lorne Michael, eat a dozen double-dick pizzas.)
So Star Pizza calls back. Here's the exchange:
Me: Star Pizza!
Star Pizza: HA!
Everyday Surrealism, folks.
Star Pizza had the taste to play "Maggie May" as its hold music.
We picked it up.
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