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As the Owner of Your Small Town’s Only Pizza Place, I Pride Myself On Making the Shittiest Pizza Possible

In a world full of gourmet options and high culinary standards, I, Tony DeMarco of Tony’s Pizzeria in the middle of nowhere Indiana, take great pride in offering something completely underwhelming. As the owner of the only pizza place in our quaint little town, I have made it my mission to serve up the worst pizza you’ve ever had. Some might call it a lack of ambition, others call it laziness, but I call it a commitment to mediocrity. I don’t even care that I have only a single star on Google, because I’m the only result and all the shit suckers in this town will just have to deal with it.

Let’s face it, not every town needs a wood-fired, hand-tossed, organic, artisanal pizza joint. What our town needs is something reliable, predictable, and entirely forgettable. That’s where my pizza comes in. My crusts are a perfect homage to cardboard, and my sauce is a masterpiece of metallic tomatoes and excessive salt that leaves your mouth feeling like you licked a car battery while scuba diving in the ocean. Toppings? Who needs fresh ingredients when you’ve got a freezer full of questionable meats and rubbery vegetables?

Some may wonder how I can stay in business with such a disdain for quality. The answer is simple: I’m the only game in town. When you have a monopoly, you can afford to be terrible. My secret sauce isn’t just the watery tomato paste I slather on my pies; it’s the fact that my customers have no other choice. You can’t get this kind of culinary tyranny just anywhere, you know. What are you going to do? Make your own pizza at home?! Tell that to the rusted outdoor pizza oven you got three years ago and only used once.

I see the look of resignation on the faces of my patrons as they bite into a slice of my cold, soggy, greasy pizza. It’s a look that says, “I wish I could eat somewhere else, but Tony’s is all we’ve got.” And there’s a certain joy in that for me. I am your culinary dictator and you suffer under my undercooked wrath. You may not love my pizza, but you need it: sleepovers, office parties, too tired to cook… I am your only option and I get off on knowing that, also I’m going to start closing at 4 p.m. from now on, and I won’t be open for lunch either.

In a world obsessed with excellence and high standards, I find solace in my corner of culinary crap. So, to all the foodies and critics out there, I say this: come to Tony’s Pizzeria and experience the joy of having no expectations met. It’s not just a meal; it’s a reminder that sometimes, in the grand tapestry of life, you are going to have to settle for less.

Bon appétit, or whatever.