Note: No, I do not hate Pizza Hut, I just got the idea for this poem and decided to write it. 11/23/97 Someone isn't wearing their hair net You decide as you glance down at your plate, The break sticks aren't cooked And they've been molding at a fast rate. The vege dip looks like cat barf And then you read the lable, "This substance can be harmful to your health So please feel free to puke on the table." There are cheesy pictures on the walls That must have been dug out of a trash bin, You wouldn't be caught dead with one All the frames made out of rusted tin. Spit wads on the celing Begin to drop into your drink, They look like little maggots As into your drink they sink. Your eyeballs begin to shake Blood and bile come up into your throat, As you go insane Then you croak. ~ Inspired by that unforgettable trip to Pizza Hut with David and Joe Towe and Pam Avera. (The poem kind of just, ends, doesn't it?)
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