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What does it take to go viral? Easy answer is a communicable disease like HIV or HPV. But what if you’re not talking about spreading an infection of the body? Instead you’re talking about spreading an infection of the collective conscious. Well, the criteria for successfully globalizing your message is most easily ascertained from the latest stupid bullshit that everyone is blabbing about around the water cooler: “Pants on the Ground,” by “General” Larry Platt, the latest in a long line of mentally handicapped people exploited made famous by American Idol.

Before I can tell you how this applies to pizza, let me tell you how I can now meet the criteria set forth by the “General.” First, I have a message that I want to get across, much like his plea for proper pants positioning in public. Second, I can sing like shit and do so to the tune of “Pants on the Ground.” And last of all, I am too old for American Idol, as T. Mario and Tenderoni can attest.

A week ago, if you had offered me a slice of Chicago-style deep-dish pizza, I would have told you and your fucking slice of pizza to go get fucked. I hated that shit and its deliberate backwards-ass pizza assembly methodology. Much like the upper middle class gets all huffy when someone lays carpet over a hardwood floor, I would literally see red whenever someone completely obscured all the luscious cheese and toppings under a boring (albeit delicious) pile of sauce. Who would want to eat something so stupid looking?

But now I’ve tried the Chicago-style deep-dish pizza at Pizza Extreme and everything I thought I knew is shit. Tenderoni and I went there last week and were blown away by the many facets of extremity on display: No seating because it’s not extreme, 2-liters of Diet Rite because it’s not extreme to just drink a can of it, and most importantly stuffed deep-dish pizza with all the sauce on top because it’s not extreme to make it normal (but they also make it that way for all the pussies out there.) And perhaps most extreme of all, is the complete 180 I’ve done on Chicago-style deep-dish pizza thanks to Pizza Extreme and their extremely awesome ‘za.

So join me now, as I bandwagon the shit out of that viral sensation “General” Larry Platt with a Pizza Extreme version of his piece of shit song life’s work and bring my own born-again deep-dish lover gospel to the masses:

Sauce on the top,

Sauce on the top,

Lookin’ mighty good with your sauce on the top.

With the buttery crust,

Cheese, toppings under sauce,

Sauce hit the top,

Call yourself a pizza,

Lookin’ mighty good,

Walkin’ downtown with your sauce on the top.

The good: Besides the monster stuffed deep-dish, the menu is dipped out with an array of sandwiches like the Roman Emperor (not to be confused with the Roman soldier), sides like a whopping pound of fries for $3.75, and a five-pound bucket of wings for $27.95. If you don’t know how to party, these dudes will show you how.

The bad: The ambience rates a big fat zero since they basically want you to get yo shit and get out of there. I bet you if they had seen my daughter spit up on the floor, they would’ve told us to just leave it.

Try: Now that you have my song in your heart and a spring in your step, walk your ass down there and get a slice of stuffed deep-dish to go. I think that Pizza Extreme is the only place in the universe that you can get something like that.

Rating: Deserving of its own fake military ranking, like “Lieutenant” Pizza Extreme.