Booooo!!!
Pizza and blow jobs are a lot alike. So long as nobody is biting your dick, you’re going to enjoy receiving even the worst of either thing.
The former is proved accurate by Marco’s Pizza (111 E. Forest Hill Ave., Oak Creek). A while back, I gave a pie from the T. Mario’s work-adjacent pizzeria a try. The experience can be summed up by placing one’s palms tightly against one’s lips and making a drawn out sound reminiscent of a wet fart. But since I can’t effectively execute this noise in text, and I know dick about making mp3s, I’ll do the next best thing and write about why Marco’s isn’t very good.
Marco’s, which is too shitty to even think about having a website, sticks out like a penis at an Ani DiFranco concert amongst all the mini malls, the big box superstores and other national franchises dotting the Oak Creek cityscape. Its building looks semi-abandoned, which is always a good feature for a business that produces things that people ingest. But, throwing caution and the fate of our anuses to the wind, Sto Cazzo and I ordered anyway.
THE GOOD: Despite severely bending the term, the circular cheese, pepperoni, sausage and canned mushroom pile we received from Marco’s was, in fact, pizza. And having consumed pizza from gas stations, my public elementary school and The Seymour Fair in my past, I can attest that even things barely qualifying as pizza are still pretty awesome.
Away from the pizza, Marco’s — in desperate attempt to lend its crackerass location more Italian authenticity — employs “De” instead of “the” in its menu, including in their hilariously terrible slogans: “De Best Ingredients Makes De Best Pizza” (which is not even grammatically correct), “For Get De Rest Get De Best” (De Best at not realizing “forget” is one word, that a comma should come after “rest” and that each first letter shouldn’t be capitalized?) and “We May Not Be De Fastest – Just De Best” (There isn’t enough time nor letters in the alphabet for me to appropriately make fun of this one). In all, Marco’s has more slogans (three, funny and stupid) than its pizza has taste (one, bland).
THE BAD: The last slogan didn’t lie. It took forever (or “For Ever” in Marco’s-speak) for our pizza to come. Despite our warning against doing so, they came to the wrong door and I had to walk around our massive building to meet the sonofabitch. Not quite worth the unheard of $2.50 delivery charge, if you ask me. Delivery retardation aside, the overabundance of cheese on this ‘Za-bomination almost certainly added to our hour wait.
In terms of the pizza itself, the inside pieces were sloppy as fuck. After eating just one gooey center slice, I felt like I seriously needed to use one of those hazmat showering stations that are in high school chemistry labs. It was dreadful. Even less appealing was the sodium level Marco’s brought to an already NaCl-rich foodstuff. Between the Olympic-sized pools of grease, the salt-lick sausage and canned mushrooms (gross), it was an altogether abrasive and messy ordeal… like having to help gut a deer that you, yourself, didn’t shoot. Except you feel fat and like you want to commit suicide after.
TRY: A full pan of lasagna. At $87.95 and with 5 hours of notice needed (pencil in an extra 5 hours for delivery), it’ll have you wondering “Why Didn’t I Make De Lasagna My Self?”
RATING: You’ll regret ordering it, loathe yourself while eating it… but, like me, finish it in your car on the drive home from work. You’ll cry as you polish off the leftovers. But the next day, you’ll awake finding that surviving the experience has somehow strengthened your belief in good pizza and, just maybe, in life as a whole. That said… let’s give it a 3.
I stole the above photo from a more favorable Web review of Marco’s.
