About half our writers know him; I think Sto Cazzo briefly lived with him, and I can vaguely remember drunkenly playing Silver Strike Bowling against him the same night I got lost in downtown Milwaukee and puked immediately after trying to jump a parking meter (or something similar to a parking meter).

But he’s not just a DoZ friend. He’s also a hell of a writer. Since day one, we have linked his blog, These Things I Know, which is equal parts hilarious and insightful. And earlier this year, he self-published his first book, Reflection in the Crosswalk, a story of a 15-year-old boy’s death and the impact it has on a small town.

The former Appleton and Milwaukee resident now lives in Atlanta. He was gracious enough to write a guest review of a pizzeria in his neighborhood. It is below.

I was excited when I was asked to do an article for the Doctors of Za. I love pizza and I love judging people. Perfect. Then came the question of where to go. I was told Nancy’s Pizza was the best around, but upon further research I learned they are from Illinois. So fuck that. My roommate’s girlfriend is from here and she often frequents a place called Fellini’s. I trust her judgment on all matters relating to pizza. She is known as the “Pizza Monster,” as she mainly lives on Jack’s frozen pizzas, eating about seven pizzas, by herself, every day. So, I took her advice and checked it out.

Fellini’s Pizza (909 Ponce De Leon Ave NE, Atlanta, GA 30306) is located in a pretty heavy bar area known as “The Highlands,” meaning that I have stumbled into this place at 2:30 in the morning, inhaled a slice of pizza, and walked around trying to find someone gracious enough to give me a cigarette. I vaguely remember eating a slice of pizza about the size of a standard face. I also vaguely remember finding a computer monitor on the way home and smashing it, to find my hands wet from the rainwater/piss/bum juice filling the inside of it. Needless to say, a precedent had been set. However, daylight and Fellini’s just haven’t gone together for me. Until now.

I elected to call ahead and place a take-out order. The interior of the place is fairly standard, metal chairs and metal tables, but the patio is where the money’s at. Patio tables with umbrellas. Perfect for fighting off the bees while you try to eat. But, I was alone and didn’t want to look like a boner eating an entire pizza by myself so I retreated to my apartment where I could share the pizza with my dog and creepily stare at the girls at the pool. It’s a pretty great feeling; annihilating slice after slice and drinking alone while watching hot girls hang out with douchebag dudes. Kinda makes you want to blast The Haunted and ruin their day. But I didn’t do that. I just ate. A lot.

I chose the “White Pizza,” because I’m racist. It’s a vegetarian pizza (mozzarella cheese, fresh garlic, oregano, ricotta cheese) that I decided to nut-up by adding meatballs, because, of course, everything is better with meatballs. Sandwiches, drinks, outfits, all made better by adding meatballs.

The Good: My memory of giant slices was spot on. And I stand by the assessment of them being about the size of a standard face. The pizzas had a thin crust, but not the paper-thin kind that usually gets cut into squares. There’s still the outer crust you can grab a hold of and one-hand the slice, leaving the other hand open to do pretty much whatever you want with it.

The Bad: I know it’s my fault for getting the White Pizza so I can’t really slam Fellini’s for it, but there was no sauce. Cheese, crust, and meatballs, that’s it. It was still good, but I like having sauce dripping down my face when I bite into a slice (interpret that however you like).

Try: the single slice option. One face-sized slice is perfect for burying the beer and shame you wracked up during a night at the bars.

Rating: Overall, it was a good experience. I think the dog liked the pizza more than I did, but she’s used to eating paper and woodchips so her opinion is a little skewed. I can’t wait to throw down this twelve pack and forget I bought it, only to open the refrigerator and find the box smiling at me from the bottom shelf. Then the circle of life will be complete and I can eat the rest before climbing Pride Rock and looking down at my kingdom.

Yep, I ate here.

It is one of the great ironies of Wisconsin pizza patronage that things that are taken as pizza law elsewhere–that crust should never be able to compared to any cracker (except Carson Daly), that sauce should not be the consistency of the stuff on spaghetti, that pizza should be fluffy yet crispy, not taste like it was microwaved and be made with the best ingredients–are treated as optional here. Which explains how I found myself in a basement restaurant in Minneapolis’ warehouse district at noon on Easter Sunday, eating in a place that can be easily described as “stainless-steel-friendly,” surprised as shit that the pizza was melting my face off for its awesomeness.

Black Sheep Pizza has the simplest of conceits: They make their pizza in a coal-fired oven just like people have in New York since 1800. It’s not rocket science, and coal is pretty cheap, but Black Sheep is the only place in the entire Midwest that I’ve eaten at on my one-man quest to die of pizza consumption that makes pizza this way. And unsurprisingly, their za annihilates anything else in Minneapolis. And or for that matter, a single slice of za from Black Sheep probably trumps anything the entire states of North Dakota, South Dakota, Iowa and probably Kansas have in terms of any kind of entertainment. Ashton Kutcher’s entire film career is crushed in enjoyment by just the thought of hopping in my car and driving four hours to get some Black Sheep in my grill.

The Good: Everything? I mean, even the goofy as way they serve pizza—the pan is placed precariously on this torture device that is hooked to your table—is perfect. The big thing though is the pepperoni, which is served like it is in the finer restaurants in New York City: the same size as salami slices, or roughly three inches in diameter. This is obviously incredibly awesome, since it’s almost impossible to eat a bite without having some toppings, which is something a lot of Midwest pizza takes for granted. Like I said, it’s the simple, back-to-basics thought that sets Black Sheep apart. Why put macaroni on a pizza, or make it 15 inches thick, when cooking a New York style in a coal oven is as close as human beings can get to eating manna from heaven?

The Bad: There’s not much I can put here, to be honest. I’m jocking pretty hard for this place, obviously. My friend said the place can get kind of busy, but being that we went on Easter, we were outnumbered by staff members by a ratio of 2 to 1. So the service was totally impeccable. Plus our waitress was kind of surprised when we tipped her as well as we did, because we apparently looked like the blown-out delinquents we are.

Try: Anything, basically. My buddy said the green olives are incredible, but I opted out of those because I didn’t want anything to ruin the giant-ass pepperoni. They also have a robust beer list and a full bar, and it’s basically the hippest place I’ve ever eaten at (seriously, I bet the stainless steel chair budget in there is larger than what I’ve made in my entire life).

Rating: Definitely better than Black Sheep the movie, starring Chris Farley. You could say that that was Farley at his worst “fattie fall down, make boom boom” phase. But then he made Beverly Hills Ninja, and that is even worse. I am obviously a doctor of Chris Farley’s movie career as well.

At the recommendation of DoZ reader Adam, I found myself pestering my friends to bring me to a downtown Giordano’s location when I was in Chicago last weekend. Like almost everything else in Chicago, the famous pizzeria chain had a line out the ass and the occasional self-important fuckface who threatened everyone’s enjoyment of the experience. But — also like Chicago — Giordano’s Pizza also had enough great and impressive things incorporated to make it well worth the time, excess money and inevitable frustration expended in the process.

Saturday, after a short bus ride, a trip on the L in which the monotone P.A. utterance of “Nature Center” made me laugh like a moron, and a 10-block hike that found my host tripping a bunch and stepping in dog shit, we arrived at the crowded corner eatery as visions of deep dish danced in our heads. Obviously, there was a 20-minute wait, but we were able to place our order (a large pepperoni and mushroom-stuffed deep dish) at the counter immediately, making up for the delay.

THE GOOD: Holy shitballs, the pizza was cheesy. It strung off each slice –almost comically so — and would, at times, clog your throat with its unwillingness to separate. It was like auto-erotic asphyxiation in pizza form. David Carradine would’ve loved the place. Beyond that, the sauce was both abundant and zesty; the toppings were plentiful, the crust was fluffy and the mushrooms were fresh.

At one point, I made my friend laugh, and she totally spat all over the five remaining slices of stuffed pizza. The pizza was so good, I didn’t even care. I still ate two more pieces. And for the price ($24), three people left uncomfortably full.

THE BAD: Giordano’s is kind of chain-ey. That makes sense, it being a 55-restaurant chain and all, but I felt like I was sitting down for a Xtreme Jack Daniel’s Fajita Shooter at an outlet mall T.G.I. Friday’s instead of renowned stuffed pizza in downtown Chicago. Kitsch “art” and iconic re-prints were a plenty. Hoards of breeders with kids in tow, and a fanny-packed guild of obvious tourists (such as myself) crowded the dining room. Names of famous people with Chicago ties were painted on the beams and wall’s borders. We sat in a Jim Belushi-adjacent booth, which was 10 times more disgusting to me than eating someone’s spit was.

The worst aspect of the restaurant was, without question, the service. The crowded, overtly-affable pizzeria it is, it’s obvious the place is busy as shit. But the host called us up to claim out table, and literally yelled at our group for arriving exactly three seconds after he said “last call.” Dude was a total dickfive (one larger than a  dickfore) to us. Doesn’t he know how difficult to negotiate your way through a narrow hallway when it’s stuffed with fat people from Indiana holding shopping bags? Admittedly, our server was very nice though.

TRY: Get the stuffed pizza. Chicago is one of the most unique and reputable pizza locales in the world. Sure, Giordano’s is a chain with a more standardized take on Chicago-style deep dish, but if you find yourself in the joint, you’d better not get a fucking Hot Chicken Ranch Sandwich.

RATING: A Hurricane Ditka of deliciousness.

The saloon itself gave off more of an authentic vibe than the rest of the town did (on the inside, anyway). The waiters were dressed in cowboy/lawman outfits, the waitresses in burlesque/flapper garb. Slightly ruining the authenticity were the widescreen TVs playing Tombstone starring Kurt Russell and Val Kilmer. Further ruining the atmosphere was the soundtrack of modern country music floating through the bar.

Glancing over the menu, I knew I couldn’t pass up the chance to eat pizza just like Wyatt Earp had over a century ago. The only Tombstone pizza I knew was of the Wisconsin-based frozen variety, so I was anxious to see what real Tombstone pizza was all about.

The pizzas came in two sizes: the “Lonesome Me” pie (10″ personal size), and the “Band of Brothers” pie (a large 16″ za). The topping selection was sparse, just as it likely was back in the heyday of the Old West. Available options are sausage, pepperoni, ham, mushrooms, green peppers, onions, tomatoes, black olives and jalapeños. We ordered a round of Pabst Blue Ribbon (“Don’t hear that much around here,” says the waiter) and a large pepperoni and mushroom pizza.

Wyatt Earp loves pizza

THE BAD: The toppings, like the selection, were lacking. I feel like Wyatt Earp would have “loaded up” his pies with as many toppings as possible, not just sprinkled on a few mushrooms and pepperonis. The awful country music really took away from the intended vibe; I highly doubt Doc Holliday listened to that shit.

TRY: Not laughing when the waiter says, in his best Wild West accent, “Would you like another Pabst there, pardner?” It’s nearly impossible, I promise. If you want a more authentic representation of the Old West, you could try wandering around in the desert for a while.

While the trip to Tombstone was a huge letdown, the pizza was surprisingly good. I don’t think I’d recommend going out of your way for it, but I suppose if you happen to find yourself in this overly commercialized tourist trap hungry for pizza, hit this place up. Just like Wyatt Earp did.

RATING: Wyatt Fucking Earp

The atmosphere at Enoteca is very laid back, yet slightly sophisticated. It’s kind of the pizzeria equivalent of the tuxedo t-shirt; it looks fancy, but it’s still casual and comfortable. The kitchen is openly visible to the left of the dining area, and there’s a small bar with a few tap beers to the right. Their menu featured standard Italian fare, mostly salads, pastas and pizzas.

My brother and I decided to try the “Quattro Formaggi,” which I’m pretty sure is Spanish for “Here I Am, Rock You Like A Hurricane.” This za featured two standard cheeses (Mozzarella and Ricotta) and two not-so-standard cheeses (Gorgonzola and Taleggio). Neither of has had even heard of Taleggio before, and could only assume it was a cheese by process of elimination while ordering. In a few minutes, a strange smell began to waft through the restaurant, and we both knew we were in for a bit of a surprise.

Quattro Formaggi

THE GOOD: The combination of cheeses on this pizza perfectly complimented their sauce. The taste was extremely hard to put into words; I couldn’t figure out if it was something about the sauce or one or both of the less common cheese selections. But I’m fairly certain that all of these pieces are required to make this pizza what it is. The flavors created this enigma in my brain that I just couldn’t solve. Considering it was a four cheese pizza, there seemed to be a lot of crust/sauce exposed, but honestly I think much more would have been a bit overpowering. The service was excellent; prompt and friendly. Their outdoor patio area seems nice; you’ll probably hear locals complain about how cold it is when it’s 60 degrees in December, wearing their winter coats and hats. Fucking pussies.

THE BAD: The smell of this thing cooking was a little confusing. While the taste of the za definitely benefited from cheese selection, the other patrons in the restaurant might not have been too happy with that smell infiltrating their brains. The music playing was a little off as well; it was mostly terrible covers of popular songs. At one point a version “A Horse With No Name” came on that sounded like they just took the original America recording and sped it up a bit, causing the entire rhythm of the song to be ruined and the vocals to get a little bit chipmunky. Now I’m not really that interested in what music is playing when I’m eating pizza, but this just seemed like the most irritating option available. I almost would have preferred Christmas music. Almost.

TRY: My brother came here on a lunch break and recommended some of their lunch specials. Apparently they have a kind of cafeteria-style lunch setup and you can get by-the-slice combos for relatively cheap. The Quattro Formaggi was definitely a roller coaster of flavor and would probably need to be experienced first-hand in order to really understand it.

Seeing as this was my first time in Arizona and the first pizzeria I had the chance to visit, I’d likely try a different option on my next trip. But I would definitely recommend checking this place out.

RATING: A Rubik’s Cube of flavor

Going back to New York was exciting. Going back to Williamsburg was equally exciting. Despite seeing the most ridiculous looking kids as soon as we got onto Metropolitan I was excited to be able to eat at some of my favorite places, San Loco, Relish, Taco Chulo, and Jerry’s Pizza. Just kidding. I’d never heard of Jerry’s Pizza before.

Red Knife Lottery and I were on the hunt for pizza. My previous journey to Tony’s was a solo mission and Ashley “wanted fucking pizza.” We met up with friends Atlas Moth (who got a burger named after them at Kumas) outside of Union Pool where they were playing later that night. Nobody was familiar with the area except myself and instead of giving some sort of direction we walked around basically aimless. After a good 10 or so blocks getting out of Williamsburg and slowly making our way into Greenpoint we stumbled across a Papa Johns and made a lot of jokes. Then, another block later, we discovered Jerry’s across the street.

Immediately, I was disappointed. It looked like there was one cheese pizza sitting on a small table next to the oven. I was right. I asked if they had pepperoni and the guy behind the counter said they did. I ordered it. Jerry’s style is to take the cheese slice and add toppings before it goes back in the oven. It made for an extra greasy pepperoni slice. I only ordered one slice but ended up getting two. I wasn’t disappointed with that.
Chris and Joe from Red Knife followed suit and got 2 slices, as well. The soda situation was sketchy at best. A cooler full of ice and some broken ass soda fountain rig had me questioning whether or not to get one. I did. The pizza was great. Classic New York style is the only way to describe it. There really isn’t more detail one could get into.

The Good: Well. It’s New York pizza. It’s exactly what you’d expect out of a Brooklyn pizza place. I really enjoyed listening to who I imagine is the owner and a regular customer talk about boxing during the duration of my pizza experience. I was also a fan of getting two slices when I only ordered one. Almost as if the guy behind the counter knew what my stomach actually wanted like some sort of modern day pizza oracle.

The Bad: Even though I knew what I was getting into with the two slices the stomach ache hours later wasn’t my favorite. The ice for the soda being in a basic Rubbermaid cooler creeped me out a little. The area isn’t bad but it’s something you would have to go out of the way for if you were visiting NYC. Very not on any main drag so to speak.

Try: Going there sometime. It’s got pizza, goddamnit, it’s good, and they already know what you want. Plus, if you’re visiting Jerry’s Pizza that means you’re in New York and that rules. If you go out there look up my good friend Jim McGurk. He knows a good time.

New York City is known for many things. Rats, jerks, Jay-Z, and pizza. Within 2 minutes of exiting the van in Bushwick I saw 3 of the 4. Tony’s Pizzeria was mere steps from where I parked my mobile home for 2 weeks (Red Knife Lottery’s tour van). We didn’t arrive to NYC until about 1 am and Tony’s had been closed for hours. Instead the girls we were staying with, Lauren, Lauren, and Carolyn, took us to a 4 am bar some blocks away called Gotham City. On the way back I asked one of the Laurens about Tony’s and she assured me that it was fantastic.

The next day I woke up and started walking around Bushwick. I eventually worked up a hunger and went to Tony’s. The display case was large and confusing (see pic). There were all sorts of pizza and pizza related items and some of which I didn’t recognize. The guy working behind the counter was definitely one of the four things NYC is known for (P.S. Jay-Z doesn’t work at Tony’s) so I wasn’t about to ask what some of the pizzas were. There were a lot of classic NY style pizzas and some non NY style. After standing around confused and nervous for a couple long minutes I pointed at the square pan pizza which looked just like a square cheese slice. It was reheated, put on a paper plate for me, and I sat down anxiously.

Upon further inspection there was pepperoni under the cheese. My guess had turned into a full success as I was looking to get a pepperoni slice. First bite was great. The sauce had a mild tanginess to it and the pepperoni had a very classic not too spicy taste. The cheese was the very familiar rubbery looking cheese that most by the slice places have. Overall, everything was fantastic. I wanted to go back and sample something else but a phone call from the dudes made me leave.

The Good: The pizza is great. The variety is amazing. The Sprite is cheap.

The Bad: The attitude. That guy was not happy to see me rocking a Milwaukee Brewers hat in Bushwick.

Try: Anything. Most everything looked like it tasted great and all came highly recommended.

Rating: Aaron Rodgers’ QB Rating

I’ve never been to Pittsburgh before but Chris from Red Knife Lottery spent months in the place. When I was out with them on a short tour I asked for his expert advice when looking for a pizza joint. He didn’t know. I then looked toward the locals for a hint. Brandon, a good friend and drummer from Pittsburgh hardcore band Girl Fight, highly recommended Pizza Sola. We had already been drinking at Dee’s bar which was only a few short blocks away so I gathered some friends and we headed down.

I was impressed right off the bat with Pizza Sola. It’s a by the slice place with tons of options. More than your typical cheese, sausage, or even a pepperoni/sausage combo, Pizza Sola offers slices such a Pepperoni Feta or Chicken Broccoli Spinach. Their pizza display case is definitely something to see.
I’m sort of a pizza purist and believe that the true test of any pizzeria is their pepperoni pizza. Of course, that is what I got. Others went for some of the aforementioned slices. After a short wait for the slices to be warmed up in the oven our boxed slices were ready to go.
Other more drunk friends opted for the walk and eat while my good friend Dan and I decided to wait until we got outside of The Smiling Moose (the venue that Red Knife Lottery was playing that night). After the first bite I was a little angry. The cheese was kind of runny and there was a definite lack of sauce. Most of the cheese and pepperoni dripped off my slice and back into the box which I promptly slapped back on my pizza. The crust was very thin and pretty chewy. Despite runny cheese and small amounts of sauce the taste was fantastic. The slices are a good size. Everyone else was impressed with their slices as well. When I’m in Pittsburgh again I will definitely go back.

The Good: The thin crust was done very well. The variety of slices is definitely impressive and that display case is something that would make most pizza places jealous.

The Bad: Runny cheese and a lack of sauce. Really? Those are the 2 most basic things that make pizza amazing.

Try: One of their not ordinary slices. Everyone I was with who got one loved it. They seem like they’re more about toppings than cheese and sauce.

Rating: Super Bowl XXXVII

I’ve been visiting Village Pizza in Chicago’s Ukrainian Village for a couple years now and I don’t know why I keep going back. I recently spent roughly 2 weeks on the road with my good friends and fantastic musicians Red Knife Lottery. They are a Milwaukee based band but their guitar player, Dan, resides in Chicago. Dan also happens to be one of my best friends which finds me in Chicago more often than I’d actually like. He, like myself and my za doctor friends, is a big fan of drinking and we get about as drunk as you can get while I’m visiting.

This is where Village Pizza comes into play. I’ve never been there sober and there is a good reason for that. It’s a pizza by the slice style joint and they’re nice enough to oblige you with a free soda from their soda fountain. They are one of the only (if not THE only) places I’ve been to in my life that offers grape soda from the fountain. You’ve got your basic pizza flavor choices at Village Pizza. I usually opt for pepperoni while my typical drinking buddy usually rolls with the cheese. No fancy toppings here, plastic-like cheese (in that weird kind of good way), half hard/half soft crust, and the sauce can only be described as completely normal.

The slices are humongous. Humongous and greasy. When I wake up in the morning and put my pants on (actually they’re still on most of the time) I normally find little dark circles on my pants from the pizza dripping grease on me. The real story at Village Pizza isn’t merely the run of the mill slices. It’s the owner. The insanely racist asshole owner. It’s really unlike anything you will ever witness (think Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino). I can’t explain it and you really do have to just see for yourself.

Overall, I’ve never been unsatisfied while taking a 3-4 am trip to Village Pizza and I guarantee that I will be back. When I wake up in the morning and my mouth has that certain taste (you know the one) I definitely curse my drunken self for being so stupid… again.

The Good: Free soda (grape!!) and the fact that you know you’ve been drinking heavily. It’s cheap. I vaguely remember paying around 3 bucks for a seriously big slice.

The Bad: The staff is completely insane in sort of a scary way. The clientele is basically the same way. It may be the fact that I’ve never been in there before 1:30 am but it’s always an adventure. That almost makes it sound not bad. I guess the real bad is that taste in your mouth in the morning and the day long stomach ache you’ll be dealing with the following day.

Try: Going there when you’re not drunk and letting me know how it is.

Rating: Sex with a fat chick.

I am only 23, but I feel fairly confident that when I die, I’ll probably be one of those sad bastard geezers who complains about all the shit I never crossed off my bucket list with my pal Morgan Freeman. “I never hang glided,” I’ll say. “I never did whippets out of a hooker’s ass while watching Fraggle Rock,” I’ll moan in between sputtery breaths. “I never wrote the great American novel about a boy, his dog, his peg leg, and their quest for religious freedom, free from the persecution of the oppressive Amish overlords and Phillies fans of Western Pennsylvania,” I’ll say, looking right into my grandson’s eyes as I surely scar him for life by dying right then.

But I do know one thing: I’ve eaten some pretty fucked up pizza in my day (among them, pizza (a more apt name would be “circle-shaped garbage”) sold in a shitty restaurant inside a Pick ‘N Save). But none might be more fucked up than the crazy shit I’ve seen/eaten at Mesa Pizza, Minneapolis’ finest, conveniently located near the university and my friend’s apartment, pizza joint. Seriously, I ate salami (like the kind they put on school lunches) on pizza there once, and I don’t even like salami. It was fucking bonkers.

Mesa Pizza, like every near the university pizza joint, is a slice-based affair, with most of the sales coming from the batshit crazy combos whoever was working that day cooked up. I once saw a vegetable pizza in there that looked like it had vomit from the creature from The Little Shop of Horrors on top (they take pride in how crazy their veggie pizzas are, which is like being proud you can play piano—it’s cool, but it’s no guitar). They also make a hamburger and French fry pizza, which is topped by hamburger-like meat (no bun=no burger) and some of the gnarliest looking fries of all time on top (they looked like aborted potato fetuses). Seeing as I’m already headed to an early grave due to hypertension and high cholesterol, I never had the man biscuits to step to the hamburger and fries one, but I did sample some of the meat-based pizzas (I would have eaten one with vegetables, but all of the meat and veggie slices come with weird ass shit I’d never eat, like radishes or something called “green peppers”), including one that has salami, vinegar, and pepperoni, which was totes tubular, and my personal fave, ground beef and pepperoni.

The Good: The toppings at Mesa Pizza are top-notch shit, so much so that their normal sausage is an off-the-menu affair that costs like 10 dollars more for a whole pie (at least I’m told. Once we tried to order a large sausage, and the dude just laughed at us. I think it was probably due to the whole sausage being a hilarious euphemism for penis thing). I’ve never had the money to try that, but their pepperonis are like little slices of a pre-prison sentence ODB: salacious and possibly full of crack. The cheese is stretchy in a way that is only possible in tube forms (like mozzarella sticks), which makes for a fun and child-like eating experience, and the sauce, when you get a slice with the normal tomato stuff, is also excellent.

The Bad: Have you ever tried eating a pepperoni and ground beef slice while seated next to your friend’s girlfriend, who you’re sure hates you with unbridled passion, as she goes to town on a slice that has feta cheese, tomatoes, spinach, and some kind of yellow sauce a brother can’t readily identify that smells like mold? I have. It gargles mastodon balls.

Try: A good rule of thumb at Mesa Pizza is to try anything with pepperoni on it. It probably won’t be too fucked up, and it’ll likely get you harder than a level five Sudoku puzzle. Unless you’re into some weird ass vegetable combos, then have one of those. But remember, tomatoes have feelings too. If you’re man enough (or have an indestructible colon), try that hamburger and fry shit and get back to me. You probably only have about 15 minutes to live.

Rating: Weezer (Blue Album)

NOTE: Eating at Mesa Pizza would require you to go to Minnesota, which is now where Brett Favre lives/gobbles pain pills. I do not recommend taking the more drastic action of actually living in Minnesota, because that place is the worst.