When I’m not writing award winning screenplays or ground breaking editorials, I am but a humble pizza delivery guy. I take after the likes of Philip J Fry and… the stars of pornographic pizza delivery scenarios- but moreso Fry. Three nights a week I don the honorable uniform of the conveyor of delicious Italian food, and Pepsi products. Incidently, I don’t actually have a uniform, or one of those cool signs to adorn the roof of my car, buy fear not! I am out there, prowling the night streets until 10:00pm, 9:00 on weeknights. When hunger strikes, who ya gonna call? My service cones with a warning though. My is a vengeful profession. If you stiff this time, next time it may not be a delectable pizza I pull from my specialized insulated bag, but a futuristic hydrolic sleeve that allows me to puncture your abdomen with a jackhammer like spike that lays a nut sized mine in your gut after every entry and as you stand there, your entrails spilling onto the patio of your multimillion dollar house, watching me walk away with a slice of your meat lovers in my hand, its heavenily aroma the last thing you experience before I detonate the embedded mines and trigger an explosion that will level you and your home and everyone inside, ensuring that you can’t possibly receive a proper burial, so that when judgement comes your soul will be passed over and your restless being will be left to suffer the emptiness of purgatory beyond all time, with just a hint of pizza in the air torturing you for all eternity. So just remember, tip nice, or something bad may befall you. Or I may just suck it up and walk away with a smile. For now, but I will be plotting.

With that said, tip your delivery person well kids. Think of it as insurance. Protection against us ratting out your underage party to the cops, or accidently driving on your lawn, or pooping on your pizza pie. But really, what merits us lower than a waiter? We don’t have to watch the level of your water glass, or take your order, but we do have to pay for gas, risk our lives on the open road to ensure you a hot and fast dinner and find your fucking house in the dark when your house numbers are hidden behind an overgrown bush. Turn your fucking lights on when you call us! And tip us a decent percentage you rich bastards who come to the door of a mansion smoking from a cob pipe with a god damned monacle in your eye. The guy wearing a burlap sack as pants living in a trailer down by the river tipped better than you? Is that how you got so rich, stiffing your servers all your life?

A little lesson I learned from Colin’s mistake. If you are at a bar/restaurant and have a waiter taking care if your drinks, don’t let him catch you ordering from the bar, or he might flip put on you and yell at you in front of everybody and deny you service. It was awesome.

Take a stand!

1. hahaha, Colin was so confused. I don’t think he ever wants to go back there, what a puss.

   — Kyle · Apr 30, 06:17 PM · #

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