There aren’t very many things that can really make you wonder about the trajectory of your life, but ordering a $50 pizza is one of them. Eating half of said 28-inch pizza (that’s one and a half regular sized large pizzas eaten by one person in one sitting as a casual dinner) makes the issue seem even worse. Now I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with competitive eaters if I could be one of them I totally would. The fame and glory coming from being better than other people at something that literately everyone does is exactly what I want out of my life. I mean those chubby guys in the Nathan’s Hot Dog eating contest every year are some of the highest paid and most beloved athletes in the world and for very good reason.
But this gives me pause because I don’t know if I should really chase my dream of becoming a competitive eater or not. I mean, sure, I’m a pretty solid eater for a novice but does that mean I should take the big gamble and start doing preparation to expand my stomach for an upcoming competition? Should I drop out of college to eat full time? I mean I certainly wouldn’t mind that, I’m sure my parents would at the very least laugh at me and laughing makes you live longer so it’s a win-win, right?
But wait, I just remembered the real reason I’ve never become a competitive eater before; I don’t eat anything. I mean sure, I eat mass quantities of food but if you like to give me something weird I’ll refuse to do it. I literally chase my vegetables with ice cream (there have been pictures of this taken, they will not be attached out of self-consciousness towards the appearance of my face). I consider it to be “eating exotic” if I put wheat bread into my body (let’s be for real, that basically never happens). My family literally cannot go out to eat together anymore because I only eat gluten and my sister can’t eat gluten (this ignores a variety of reasons. For example, our behavior is such that the fact that we’ve never been banned for life from anywhere is REALLY shocking. Fancy restaurants take tears and food being thrown much better than anticipated). My food pyramid is a slice of pizza. That slice of pizza has nothing on it, and if it does I’ll react very poorly. Pizza wasn’t meant to be ruined with vegetables or meat. This is one of the two things that I actually care about.
The other thing that I care about is when people tell awful jokes that they think are really funny. That just makes me so irrationally angry. Like baby on a bus angry. I’m not sure what that metaphor means but let’s just roll with it. Every time I hear a knock-knock joke a large part of me dies, and that’s not an exaggeration. I choose to believe that poor jokes are the leading cause of cat AIDS in this nation. And there’s nothing funny about that. Okay, maybe there is, but I’m not gonna make a joke of it or anything. That would be purr-thetic story telling. Wow, that was awful, I hate myself. Guess I’m gonna have to go talk to my cat. (I don’t have a cat)
