I'm a Frozen Pizza Making Professional :: Old Randomer

I’m a Frozen Pizza Making Professional

By: Goo
Written: Last weekend.

I went to school and majored in the culinary art of frozen pizza making. Professor Yoda was my instructor. To quote the Prof. “Learned to make pizza, I did.”

One day in pizza class, we played boggle just for the heck of it. The Boggle game ended when somebody ended up spilling pepperoni all over the Boggle board. Unpleased was Yoda. Used the Force, did Yoda, to clean up the boggling pepperoni stains. (Pepperoni stains aren’t very common occurrences, which is why the Force was required to sanitize the Boggle cubes.

After the Boggle cube sanitization, Yoda proceeded to tell us to write a song about the finer points of crust darkening. He noted that all the best song lyrics have been written by someone who was either stoned, drunk, or both. I decided to take senor Yoda’s advice, and balanced a rock on my head while I tried to write a song. It went something like this:

la la la la...
I’ve got a rock on my head.
la LA!
it’s brown.
la LA!
it’s round.
la LA!
to dround.

I presented it to Yoda, but he said: “Off topic, that song is.”

I responded: “Sorry Professor Yoda, but all of that stoning and drounding and bounding have made me lose my volition to work on school work. So, if you don’t like my song, well, that’s too bad. Long live the SLACKERS!”

“Fail you will for your slacking,” he replied with a stern look on his green face.

“Geez,” I whispered to a fellow bounder, “He looks like he just had some Split Pea With Ham and Bean soup. That’s enough to make a Jedi Professor extra-special anti-bounder-tunes.”

As Yoda passed me by to leave the totally befuddled class in the classroom (which had the Red Barron’s Tombstone as the chalkboard) all by themselves (which means without a teacher), I caught a whiff of his pits. Bad it was. “Hey Yoda, you should really check out a little product called deodorant. Do they not have that on your planet?”

“Taunt me not, else hit you with a big stick I will.”

“Pee-u, Yoda needs a dog-who-poops-on-carpet deodorizer!” (After I said that, I realized I maybe went a little too far.)

“Retaliate with big stick, I will!” He yelled as he brandished his walking stick which was twice his height.

“OW, shouldn’t ‘ave done that,” I groaned as I slipped into a coma.

I awoke two days later to see Yoda leaning over me. “Ready, about pizzas to learn, are you yet?”