Some days I feel like I could eat a massive pizza. I mean a massive, massive pizza, maybe six feet wide and two inches thick, dripping in cheese and pepperoni and tomato and spicy barbecue sauce and all the rest of it. Like a paddling pool, but made out of, well, pizza.
I’d dive in. Almost literally - go wild, chomping away at it from the inside out, covered in sticky, sweet, greasy bits of ham and chicken and bacon and whatever else I might have ordered for it.
Some days. I think I’m just hungry tonight, and the primitive bit of my brain is madly fixated on food. There’ll be no paddling-pool-size pizza tonight, monkey brain. You will have to defer to the computery department and make do with the sensible option - which I think is baked salmon. Oh trust me chimpy, the digestive department will thank you for your cooperation.
How would you cook a six-foot pizza anyway? You’d have to construct a huge oven for it, not to mention the device for slotting it in and lifting it out again when it’s done. It’d be a huge faff. I guess if you were a billionaire you could rope some people in to help you? Back garden, world’s largest pizza oven, buckets of chopped tomatoes, cheese the size of breeze blocks being sliced up. Seems like the kind of thing people with too much money might do of an evening, or for some social media purpose. Much like you or I would go ten pin bowling I suppose, or put on a barbecue for the neighbours.
Still. It wouldn’t be fun for all those cooks and onion dicers to stand around and watch me wallow in their creation like a sweaty hippo. No, even billionaires would have to share it out, I reckon.
Thankfully, salmon don’t grow to such lengths. Imagine if they did! Actually don’t, that’s kind of terrifying.
In any case, I think I go a bit weird when I’m hungry. Time for dinner.
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