Pizza-Beast

The Pizza Beast

A couple of doors down from me lives a pizza beast.

The pizza beast lives exactly where you might expect a pizza beast to live – in a pizza shop.

The pizza beast and I have a wary kind of relationship. We’re like the daddy lions of neighbouring prides; rival wizards whose sorcerous towers overlook the same enchanted forest, or the last two bruised apples in the supermarket, desperately not wanting to be the last bruised apple in the supermarket.

Yep. We keep a wary eye on each other.

I feel the pizza beast watching me as I pass by on my way to work, into town, or – more commonly – when I come back home.

Whenever I have to pass the pizza shop, the beast reaches out for me. It uncoils from its lair, extends its long, cheesy-scented, pepperoni-suckered tentacles, and tries to ensnare me – while I do my best not to be caught.

It’s become a perverse kind of game between us. The pizza beast tries to get me, to drag me into its lair, to mug me for a portion of my hard-earned wages, and impregnate me with pizza – while I try to escape its clutches, make it home safely and eat a piece of toast instead.

Unfortunately, I don’t always escape the pizza beast. Sometimes I find myself on the sofa, with a baby pizza beast on my lap, extending its nebulous scented tentacles through my flat, and wondering how I got there, and why my belly is larger than I want it.

Since I moved to the area, the pizza beast has got me a few times. Mostly on the weekend, when my guard is down. I’m starting to worry that a baby pizza-beast is growing inside me – that would be pretty bad, as I don’t want my flat to turn into a pizza shop, and I hate dealing with customers.

But I came up with a plan this morning – a sure-fire way to ensure the pizza beast doesn’t win:

I went into town, a few minutes ago. I walked the long way round, so I didn’t have to pass the pizza beast’s lair, and I bought a jar of black olives.

Now, I hate black olives. They spoil whatever they come into contact with. A salad with black olives in it is just a big pile of pointlessness, with extra nasty on top. A jar of black olives is just an empty jar going to waste.

And I’d rather not have a pizza at all, than have a pizza polluted with those little black balls of salty cack.

On my way back home, I took the short route – the route past the lair of the pizza beast. When I got close enough to be in danger, I opened the jar, extracted two olives, and shoved them up my nose.

That’s right. I shoved them up my nose.

I walked past the pizza shop with a big grin. I even stuck my head inside and waved heartily at its human minions scurrying around within.

‘Dry and deduce me dow, peedza beasd!’ I yelled. ‘Ha!’

I wasn’t even tempted to have pizza.

Now I’m back home, and, even though the olives are stuck, I feel like I’ve won.

 

22 thoughts on “The Pizza Beast”

  1. I often find myself standing in ice cream shops on my lunch break wondering hazily how I got there. You know I am probably lucky that ice cream doesn’t have much of a smell. Otherwise I might die in some sort of ice cream induced scurvy nightmare.

  2. This is perfectly written. I think Pizza Beast should be a normal term in everyday conversation, like “Bring it!” or “Lawyer up” or “On sale now, buy one get two free!” I wish this post would go viral so everyone would know what it means and I could use the phrase freely without having to explain myself or give people a http link to follow. *sigh*

    Seriously, I love your quirky sense of humor and the way you tell your stories. My only gripe is that you do not write more frequently. I will admit it: I am greedy and just gobble up your words as if they were, well, piping hot delicious pizza.

    xxo
    MOV

    1. I’d love to write more often! Somehow I find blog-related stuff a lot more emotionally taxing than my other writing at the moment. I keep telling myself to stay on top of it, and then myself just ignores I.

      Thanks for linking to the post! You totally pizza beasted it!(?)

  3. LOL! This was brilliant Ash :)

    That freaking pizza beast has knocked me up more times than The Husband. And unfortunately, I have yet to find any toppings that could dissuade me from indulging in it.

  4. MOV is doing her best to get this post to go viral – she sent me over here, and I’m glad she did, even though you made me want pizza and now I know the only way around it is to stick produce up my nose.

  5. You won! Don’t worry about the olives up your nose. They’re just there for next time the Pizza Beast tries to attack you. Black olives have a use after all!

  6. Why do so many people hate black olives? Olives are gorgeous. I’d happily eat a whole jar of them instead of a pizza, and I like pizza.

  7. I knew Pizza Beast was real just like the cookie monster! better get those olives extracted tho, they might start to rot….I know form experience.

    PS: this was so well written!!!

  8. Heh, that wouldn’t have worked on my ex. She loved black olives and would have been even more encouraged to get pizza.

  9. I, too, find myself being stalked by the pizza beast. However, when I fear that it may ensnare me in its tentacles, I run crying into the warm, embracing hug of the beefy taco shell. That’ll show the pizza beast!

  10. I read this right after you published it, but my phone wouldn’t let me comment. Anytime I see that you’ve posted, I race right over, cause me loves you :) So now I’m finally back to comment!

    Anyhoo, gosh darn that pizza beast. But now that you’ve shown us how to best him, can you please give advice on how to conquer the chocolate monster? That one is MUCH harder to avoid, because she lives in my house.

  11. I really need to do this to help me avoid temptation. I too hate black olives with a passion, which is weird, since I’m a Spaniard. I say this because I recently made the mistake of buying a Spanish cookbook, and every single damn recipe is just littered with olives. Why, God, why?

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