Cancer is alive, too.

So, today I went on my first food adventure for this little journal of consumption. While out at Walgreens, buying very expensive lotion for my super silky skin during my lunch break, I was perusing the frozen food section with a sort of detached musing. I’m fat, and frozen microwavable food fits the general décor of my body. While I wasn’t really LOOKING for anything in particular, I found what I thought was an amazing little discovery: a microwavable pizza puff. I mean, how fucking awesome is it to find a pizza puff you can cook in 4 minutes? So, like the portly slob I am, I took advantage of the two for 3 dollar deal, grabbed a bag of kettle chips and paid for my lotion/pizza puff/ chip lunch.

Awesome.

So, I get back to the shrine of instant gluttony, also known as the microwave, to nuke me up some fucking pizza puff goodness. As I remove the puff from the plastic, I notice a thick sheet of crystalline ice adorning my pocket of pizza goodness. This is never a good sign. This typically indicates, from my experience, that the food has thawed to some degree and then been refrozen, or has been in the freezer for way too long. Not a huge deal; just a little freezer burn to make your food taste bland and flavorless. Anyways, the puff has a crisper sleeve, which I hate. Also, the puff is stuck to the fucking thing so I literally have to peal it off. I’m struck with a brief tinge of regret as I place the pastry into its little cardboard sock and put it in the microwave for “3-4 minutes”.

The first thing that hits my nostrils is not the pleasant scent of cooking pizza-like filling. Oh no, it’s the smell of melting plastic. What the shit? What the hell is melting? Oh, it’s my three dollar microwaveable lunch slash food substance! I open the microwave in a panic and notice, much like the Grinch’s heart, my pizza puff grew three sizes bigger, and is also looking like some sort of natural disaster waiting to happen. So I pull it out and burn the FUCK out of my hand on this molten pillow of paper and crust. It has cooked to a crisp, golden color by now, as if it were actually meant to look the way it does. Now, I have the arduous task of unsheathing the coal hot puff from its crisping blanket. Like some Philadelphia Experiment gone awry, it has literally fused to the inside of the crisping sleeve. I peel it off like so much dead skin on a burn victim, and let it cool like some disjointed and tiny bag of popcorn that’s been opened all wrong.

Yeah, I’m still going to try and eat the fucking thing, too. I mean, who knows? Maybe it will be yummy and delicious, right?

Fuck you. The crust has developed into a light and fluffy, yet cardboard consistency, leaving an utter mess of flake all over the fucking place. When I can find a spot that’s not quite the temperature of the sun, I try to pick it up and take a bite. Eventually, I am able to bore my way to the center of the fail puff, and much like the center of the earth, it’s hot enough to melt your fucking face off. While there was a fairly reminiscent flavor to it, after my tongue was able to taste again, when combined with the inedible and burned crust, it had actually become some new thing. It was not quite food, but not quite demon-born planet inhabited by my fucking melted taste buds.

I begrudgingly munched little bits here and there, while I tried to fix the OBVIOUS error in cooking time with the second one. I know there must have been something to salvage, and like a dumb fuck, I convince myself that it just needs less cooking time to be moderately edible.

The second pizza fail I put on for three minutes, which is the minimum cooking time for this toxic-waste-shoulda-been-a-hot-pocket meal. By now, the room smells like lost hope and burning anyways, so I get no nasal feedback as it cooks. The machine dings, and I am greeted by a much less burned but equally puffy pastry. It has again expanded to the size of a fucking house, and I again have to peal it like a molten banana from its cardboard coffin.

Long story short, this one, while tasting a lot less like a burned tire, still has the consistency of a flame broiled KFC biscuit, minus the loving affectations of meat gravy. It fell apart in a crumby mess, much like the previous one, but I was actually able to tear it in half to see its bloody innards. It was much too hot to eat, and as it cooled, the outer shell hardened like the skin of a reptile, to the point it was more like a cement container for pizza lava.

I lovingly wept its death as I discarded the microwavable nightmare into the trash. Also, the chips were made by Kettle, but weren’t, in fact, kettle chips. They sucked. Kettle Brand chips suck. I’m just saying.Also, here’s some pictures.