I hate confrontation, arguments, and the like with the moronic. My latest occurrence with this unpleasantness took place tonight as I tried to enjoy some cheese pizza from a "national chain". I like to put crushed red pepper on these slices because the added zip covers the blandness of the cut-rate ingredients. My taste buds and stomach usually thank me for this action. Last night, however, the pizza, being from a cheap delivery chain as I said earlier, felt I was disparaging its quality by the liberal addition of spiciness. It felt I showed no respect for it (it was New York style. It would have grabbed its "pepperoni" while talking but it had none to grab). My food therapist tells me that cheap pizzas, and food in general, from humble environs are usually a bit sensitive to commentary made regarding their taste worthiness. It has something to do with their self actualization. (I do agree with this assessment. Proof being in that the last time I lowered myself to drink a mainstream American "quality" lager from St Louis, I made disparaging remarks in comparison of its quality versus that of my normal libation from Belgium. It responded, as those from the lower classes often do when faced with superior verbal skills, by attacking me physically. In this case by spraying me with the contents of its container.)
Last night the first pizza slice engaged in a verbal battle with my stomach about class distinction and the intolerance of plebeian food products by hoity-toity organs. My stomach would have turned up its nose, if it had one, at the pathetic attempts of this cheesy product to justify its lack of taste, but a second slice soon joined the fray. At first my stomach, and myself, laughed at the obviousness of the tactics shown by the slices. When faced by an opponent of greater intellect, the masses usually resort to higher volume and more noise in an attempt to shout down the voices of reason. In order to, as my friend Chuck Dryden, would say, "To extinguish the Torch of Superiority."
I have to admit, though, the battle was lost when the third slice jumped in and pointed out that the very crushed red pepper seeds I was applying to it were of the lowest quality possible. At that point, my body's gag reflex kicked in and my stomach, in an extreme moment of panic, responded to the pizza with what I can only describe as a very low-brow riposte. Thankfully the Torch of Superiority had already been extinguished so damage was easily contained.
After a bit of reflection I can only conclude that I really hate it when my food disagrees with my stomach.