War never changes. At least, that's what Fallout 3's intro movie told me. Seemed like a reasonable hypothesis/pseudo-philosophical yammering at the time. Maybe I would have been more convinced if Fallout 3 actually managed to run on my computer so I could see if that deduction held any merit in the course of the game's plot. But this blog isn't about Super Mutants and slavers. Instead, it's merely about Super Mutants.
A year has passed since my Holy Crusade upon Staplekind was declared. Battles have been won and lost on both sides, and although injuries both physical and mental have been inflicted upon me, the tide of the Great War still lay in my favor. You may have stumbled upon my earlier war story regarding a particularly steadfast opponent, in which case I applaud your ability to somehow trip over a text document on the Internet. That battle was a turning point, a crucial victory against the fiendish Mega-Staples™ that even now pursue a vile and abominable reality where no finger is safe against minor puncture wounds. The going remains tough, but even a virile warrior like myself cannot uphold the ideals of Truth, Justice, and the American Way without some R&R every once in a while.
So I got some pizza for dinner last night. Because America.
The joint I get my baked cheese bread from (as they call it on the street [not really]) is called Skip's, named after the great American president Skip Washington. They make the greasiest, cheesiest, heart-attack-iest pizza in the land, which automatically makes it a luxurious delicacy. Unfortunately, due to the way delivery works for that place, one has to order an extra-large pizza at minimum to warrant delivery at all. Fortunately, since I'm a gluttonous fuck, I'm fine with ordering an XL and saving what I don't eat for another time.
I place the order, and my Ambrosia-in-a-Box arrives earlier than expected. All's great and shit. Eager to consume the lifeblood of my victim, I perform my customary ritual dance to summon the spirits of the cheese. This is done in order to enhance the deliciousity of my imminent meal. Ritual completed and pants off (am I the only one who does this?), I take the first bite.
Clink.
The pizza was hard. And... metallic...
Then it hit me. Figuratively speaking. I'd be a great deal more alarmed than I was at that point, if my pizza had physically struck me. Rather, something occurred to me.
A metal fragment was baked into my saucy confection. One that bore a marked resemblance to my collective foe, the Great SatanStan Staple.
The Geneva Conventions are a collection of four treaties composed by Swiss chocolatiers that dictate what is and isn't permissible in times of war. None of the treaties particularly applied here, but I couldn't help but think of them. The Staples had encroached upon neutral ground. This was no battlefield; there were no staple removers present. This was a pizza, an inviolable sanctuary/yummy food.
I wept. And then I continued eating my pizza after I was done weeping and removing the offending Metallica from my dinner.
And then I plotted. For I knew that if my foes were not above such treacherous means to dispose of me, I could not afford to be above them either.
War never changes, they said. Fuck you, Bethesda. War has just changed.
Ahahahahahahahahaha I'm surprised you didnt send that pizza back and sue them for almost killing you. Isn't that the American thing to do? Send them a stern lawyer's letter stating that if they are to include metal in their pizzas, they should at least write a warning on the box 'MAY INCLUDE HARMFUL SHARP METALLIC OBJECTS'
On March 12 2014 01:34 dravernor wrote: Ahahahahahahahahaha I'm surprised you didnt send that pizza back and sue them for almost killing you. Isn't that the American thing to do? Send them a stern lawyer's letter stating that if they are to include metal in their pizzas, they should at least write a warning on the box 'MAY INCLUDE HARMFUL SHARP METALLIC OBJECTS'
<3
Thing is, I've really liked that place for a long time, and I don't want to get into any legal bullshit because a) I have better things to do with my time, b) I didn't actually die, and c) this has only happened once in like ten years, and I'm willing to give them the benefit of the doubt and let it slide as long as they're more careful about their quality control. I'll probably go over during downtime hours and talk to them about it. I'd really rather not make a fuss about if it I can avoid it.
And I ate the pizza anyway because I was hungry. I can't pass that stuff up. :3
I wanted an excuse to somehow link my previous blog about staples to what was put in my pizza last night. And I wanted to be silly about it. That's all.
So I got some pizza for dinner last night. Because America.
I'm not sure whether I should take this as an insult or you adhering to a stereotype which believe it or not is common practice in every other country for a lot of people nowadays
So I got some pizza for dinner last night. Because America.
I'm not sure whether I should take this as an insult or you adhering to a stereotype which believe it or not is common practice in every other country for a lot of people nowadays
You should take it as me being silly, just like everything else I say here.
So I got some pizza for dinner last night. Because America.
I'm not sure whether I should take this as an insult or you adhering to a stereotype which believe it or not is common practice in every other country for a lot of people nowadays
So I got some pizza for dinner last night. Because America.
I'm not sure whether I should take this as an insult or you adhering to a stereotype which believe it or not is common practice in every other country for a lot of people nowadays
EPT![[image loading]](http://i.imgur.com/KjR3BSL.jpg)
