Fucking Pizza Hut. Here I am slaving away at my desk, eating a steady daily diet of yogurt, bananas and chicken salad, trying my best to get a “beach body” for the first time in four years and the formerly red-roofed pizza chain keeps e-mailing me adorably delicious promotions of cheesy bites dressed up as pirates and party box deals. And they always come at the absolute worst time. Middle of the afternoon, stomach growling, trying with all my might to hold out until dinner and then BAM- 2 pepperoni pies, 10 breadsticks and cheesy bites for twenty bucks. It’s like temptation island at my cubicle. Seriously how am I supposed to resist this? That little cheesy cross between Al Capone and Captain Jack Sparrow is literally cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and his salivating sidekick ain’t that bad either. It’s no wonder we’re a nation of fat asses, just getting force fed misleading advertisements that you immediately regret the second you finish stuffing your face.
I once tweeted "what’s a bigger let down- losing your virginity or anytime you’ve ever eaten Pizza Hut?" And without question it’s the latter. I probably eat there once, maybe twice a year, and the night always plays out a little something like this:
1) My friends and I sitting around, discussing whatever various special they’ve got going on at the moment, followed by someone suggestion we try it out.
2) Us eating said special as fast as humanly possibly (because the only thing worse than Pizza Hut is cold Pizza Hut)
3) Me, shitting my brains out for the remainder of the night, cursing myself for falling for their promotions yet again.
So although they won't win the battle this time, cooler heads have prevailed and I will be withholding from indulging in cheesy gluttony this evening, they still made me want it. And sometimes that's just as bad.