oh

dear god, my tolerance is so weak today.

one bottle of surprisingly strong heffeweisen, and glass of sangria later...
I'm about as loose as jell-o.

i made pizza. from scratch. mama tucci's recipe. i fucked it up. desperately needed salt in the crust. i want to weep. nothing is more disastrous than a fucked up pizza. pizza, my friends, is manna from heaven, and to profane the pizza gods with a poorly executed pizza pie is sacrilege. (and please, don't let anyone fool you with that stupid saying how "pizza is like sex, even bad pizza is still pizza". no. bad pizza and bad sex are just plain bad. if you can't get the good stuff, just abstain, masturbate....or something. i don't know.)

you know, i think i am going to declare my own new religion of pizza pie-dom.

i am a purist. i stick to sausage (or sassage, if you want to put in your chicago accent) and/or pepperoni. cheese. sauce. deep dish.

da bears, da cubs, da bulls.

fuck that new york style pizza shit. east coast bastards.

best pizza? still Bill's Pub. 847 566 5380. Since 1957 baby. Long live peanuts on the floor and stuffed animals and fish on the walls!

(and those of you not from around here, which is pretty much everyone, will not have a fucking clue what I'm blathering on about.)

must nap. may go watch fireworks later.