30 Minutes Or When Ever We Feel Like It
That New York-style pizza place down the street has a funny definition of “customer service”.
Thanks for calling Surly’s Pizza. Now lemme tell you what you’re gonna order, snapper head.
You’re gonna have two extra-large pizzas. No, you don’t get to pick the crust. Who do you think you are, huh? You think I can’t pick the freakin’ crust? YOU THINK YOU’RE BETTER THAN ME? Oh, and I hope you like pepperoni and anchovies, ‘cause that’s what you’re gonna be stuffing your face with tonight. Huh? You think your heartburn means somethin’ to me? Aw, the poor little baby’s got himself a little acid reflux problem. Wah wah wah. Just for that, you’re gonna get two orders of garlic cheese sticks, too, and you’ll freakin’ like it.
Specials? Well, well, well, look at the attitude on you, huh? Alright, I’ll give you a special. It’s gonna be special that I don’t drive this pie to your house and shove it down your throat myself, how about that? Now if you’d stop flappin’ your stupid gums for two seconds, I’ll give you your total. It’s gonna be $21.57 plus a nice fat tip, you hear me? No fat tip, customer get a fat lip. Says so right on the menu. Maybe you oughta try readin’ it, moron.
Wear this shirt: to a food fight.
Don’t wear this shirt: if you’d rather have Chinese.
This shirt tells the world: “Leave the pizza, take the calzone.”
We call this color: Hold The Olive Green
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