What Kinda Gay Shit Is That?

No, no, no, no.

You reach in, grab a slice of fucking pizza and start eating it as you walk away.

And why is there no Pepperoni at the very least on that pie?

If there is any left you throw the box in the fridge until an hour later and I come back through for round 2. If there is STILL pizza left in the box after that it will be gone as soon as I wake up because I fucking love cold pizza and hot coffee for breakfast.

I’m here to tell you though that it pisses The Wifely Unit off every fucking time I grab pizza and don’t use a paper plate or snag a paper towel at the very least on my way out of the kitchen.

Happens at least once a week, you would think she would figure it out by now.

41 thoughts on “What Kinda Gay Shit Is That?

  1. I absolutely love everything manly about a man. But you don’t live in a barn, so don’t act like it. 😂

    Btw, I prefer going commando under tight skirts. 😁

    Liked by 1 person

    • For once I had to take a pause, I didn’t what I wanted to say with your “commando” statement, so many impure thoughts and possibilities abound. No, I don’t live in a barn, but I lived a good amount of time in one and I had my first carnal knowledge of the opposite sex in a barn, up in the hay loft. I would like to live in a barn, my apartment above and my shop below. I would be a contented and happy man, now, if I had a commando wearing babe handing me tools and making me sammichs and fetching beers it would be perfection…

      Liked by 1 person

    • Lol! Nope. Crayons don’t leave greasy fingerprints that I have to clean up later.

      Cederq (Kev), I truly wish we had the opportunity to work together professionally. You would have been a blast, and great fun to work with! 😘

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      • I’ve said many times over the years that I got along great with most of my women co-workers on the job, but that I couldn’t live a week with most of them without contemplating homicide.
        There are exceptions. Like the one I was set up with by a meddling matchmaker from the job. Married 32 years now.

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        • Hear, hear! Same way, I got along fine with my female co workers and could joke and carry on with the best of them. I had one rule, never dated those I worked with or lived close to and I let them know it. That was one rule I never, ever violated. There were some that had I dated or got intimate I am sure I would have being shopping for the perfect toaster and extension cord I could present with them in the bathtub.

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  2. A many a night in the barracks hanging with the guys and pizza, wake up in the morning and cold pizza and warm beer at the wall locker, good times!!!grayman

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  3. Was majorly surprised that there was no man-bun on the dudette.

    And, yes, pizza with no ‘roni at least? WTF?

    And and, one slice each? That’s a fucking appetizer. That’s a nosh. An amuse-bouche (one tasty bite.) At least 2-3 slices, or a full medium.

    Come to think of it, fuck pizza-store pizza. Publix (a grocery chain down he-ah in the South) sells a nice bake-your-own pizza dough. Roll a medium crust, cover with a good sauce and cheese and pepperoni and you have a great pizza that hasn’t been in a pot-smoke-filled car. Become real fond of not commercial pizza lately.

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        • I wish I was light… it was a unique form of sarcasm… lightening up. Inbred? I am sure my parents were not first cousins or siblings…

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            • bluecat, I wasn’t offended. I like good sarcasm and irony. I know it is hard to convey cues and tone on this type of platform. Jest away! I don’t get angry on blogs because of that and iffn’ you were to call me an asshole, I would buy you a beer and agree with ya!

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              • ASSHOLE
                Now come buy me a beer and let the party begin.
                We can even come up with new things to pick on that goofy Aussie about.

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                • I am feeling generous, I will buy you two! New things… that will be five minutes out of our lives we ain’t getting back.

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  4. Eh, that’s kind of clever. Seems like too much trouble IRL, but a clever idea.
    As to how to eat pizza, here is a tale from my friend James. This took place in PDX, not all that far from Phil’s AO.

    https://www.jameslafond.com/article.php?id=12201

    I’ve gone the knife and fork route myself, and if a person has a problem with that, well, screw you and the Sigmund Freud you rode in on.

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    • Your mention of “screw you and the Sigmund Freud.” is telling Mike_C… How long have you had these feelings and can you show me where you were touched on this doll?……. {snarc}

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      • You read me like an open book. Must be all the sooper sekrit psych nurse training.

        That’s a tough job, BTW. I know I couldn’t have done it. Reminds me of my single psych story from my cardiology training though. So the cath lab was on the 3rd floor in let’s call it Bldg “Able”. The lockdown psych ward was in Bldg “Baker”, also 3rd floor. Every other floor Able and Baker were connected by a hallway, but not floor 3 because of the lockdown ward. One night around 7pm the overhead loudspeakers barked out “Code Purple, Baker 3, Code Purple, Baker 3! Assistance needed immediately!” Now Code Purple at our hospital meant “crazy person flipping out violently”. My co-fellow and I (we were on Able 2) looked at each other. “Hmmm. That announcement basically said that a crazy person was flipping out in the lockdown psych ward. Welp, nothing we can do.” So we ignored it. In fact, our badges didn’t even let us lowly cardiology people access their ward.

        The next morning we found out what really happened. Turns out that even though our cath lab was Able 3, the adjacent/connected prep/recovery area was technically Baker 3 for some reason. (This made no sense since it could not be accessed from anywhere in Baker 3, but no one asked me about nomenclature.) Anyway, some patient who had just had a heart cath flipped out in recovery, jumped out of bed, grabbed this poor nurse and threatened to perforate her with a screwdriver or some other piece of found weaponry (I forget exactly). Well, in those days we did femoral artery access, and sure enough the crazy dude opened up his femoral artery in all the excitement. He was literally spurting big jets of arterial blood and lost at least a couple of liters of blood in a few minutes, after which he passed out without stabbing the nurse. Apart from being terrified for good reason the nurse was okay. But we felt terrible that we hadn’t responded. (The crazy patient lived, BTW. Had to be transfused several units, but he did okay too.)

        Fuck. Sorry folks. Only medical people go from talking about pizza to stories of lunatics spurting blood, or a ruptured bowel, or whatever. We used to have dinner parties where the medical folks were happily chattering away about something revolting while chowing down, and normal people were just nauseated.

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        • Mike_C, my mother too was an old WW2 nurse and worked for years after. The deal when we as a family would get together for dinners or barbecues my mom and I could not talk shop or comment on what ever weird or gory that we encountered while on our mission of mercy… Non nursing friends wouldn’t let me wax philosophic about the human condition we encountered every single shift.

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  5. Since we take-n-bake, we take the leftover pizza(s) and fold the baking “pan” (Heavy-duty paper board that is relatively heat-proof) in half and put a rubber band around it and wrap it back up in the Take-n-bake supplied Saran Wrap and shove it in the fridge.
    I prefer my pizza cold, less grease to manage and for some reason certain pizzas seem to taste BETTER when cold(er)! Call me crazy – ’cause I am.

    Like

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