In the oven right now is a Frankenstein frozen pizza. Nine times out of ten, one is at least somewhat dissatisfied with the lack of toppings on their pizza. Scared of disappointment, I went to buy some mushrooms but apparently there is a mushroom famine going on because the fresh ones were non-existent. I had to settle for canned variety.
A frozen pizza brand named “Giuseppe Pizzeria” is as stereotypical as a Chinese restaurant named “Wong’s Wok” or some truck stop diner named “Al’s Grill.”
I should have taken a picture to show you the amount of mushrooms I dumped onto there but I forgot. I ruined this post. But I assure you there’s lots but unfortunately they are made in China. No wonder why they were so inexpensive. I hate putting stuff in my mouth that’s made in China(if you want a scare go look up ‘gutter oil in China.’ I had some leftover cheese so I just grated it on there.
The oven “dinged” as I was writing this post. This is blogging in real time. Almost like updating a Facebook status. You want to know what I’m doing when I’m doing it, right?
It looks okay. I’m sure it will give me diarrhea tomorrow. I’m hoping not to be a loser by eating the whole thing.
It’s dinner time. I’ll let you know how it goes.
This is Mr. Johnson reporting live from the pizzeria dungeon. For a total of $7 Canadian dollars the Frankenstein pizza was a success. The added mushrooms were vital in making it alive. I only ate a quarter of the pizza for now because I believe in spreading portions when consuming unhealthy disasters.
Before I decided to create pizza I was picking up a photo from a Craigslist ad. For the past little while I had been wanting one of these. It might not be my ideal format but for $25 I’m satisfied.
This whole Monday was about me spending money. The first half of the day I was buying Wayne Gretzky cards off of eBay. The amount I spent on shiny little pieces of cardboard is a little embarrassing. I’m finding it easier to spend money now that I’m unemployed. I know, it sounds like backwards thinking. When I was working I associated spending money with pain and suffering. Perhaps my wounds are healing. Or maybe I’m an idiot destined for cardboard box living and $1 pizzas.