(Note: Since I wrote this piece in 2003, I have tried the pizza of KPFM. It’s great. If you should ever find yourselves in Escondido or Oceanside, and you have a pizza jones, get your Earthling behinds over there for some far-out fantastic pizza. The rest of this piece is astoundingly silly. But summer is the time to write and read silly blog posts. If you have a problem with that...go eat some pizza! And you know where, too.)
Image of Kobe from luzer (Flickr) / Image of pizza from nruboc (stock.xchng) / Everything else all me!
A friend and I were in Oceanside, California on Memorial Day weekend, searching for a Baskin-Robbins to help feed an ice cream jones. We found a shopping center anchored with a Stater Brothers, but no B-R. What we did find was Killer Pizza From Mars.
The owners took the Mars theme to the limit. Life-size plastic statues of aliens stood in the window like a department store display: E.T. and Jar-Jar Binks (sorry, Star Wars fans), the big-brained dudes from Mars Attacks, and the Alien alien (now, why would you put that in the window of an establishment that sells food???)
The place was packed. Was the pizza any good? I don’t know. My friend and I had a Klondike bar and an ice cream sandwich, respectively. We were looking for ice cream, not pizza.
But this is one example of the importance of standing out in the business world. If the owners had called their pizza parlor, say, Oceanside Pizza, would I have even bothered to take a picture of the sign? Would we have even thought about going inside, contradicting our hankering for ice cream? I think that those who sprinkle their restaurants with some sci-fi magic, who go the extra mile to entertain the customer, deserve to be rewarded.
If I were to start a pizza parlor, I would take a page from the Killer Pizza From Mars playbook. I would give it a name nobody will ever forget. But I’m going to be a little more realistic. I don’t know of any pizza that ever killed anyone, and I prefer my pizza a bit warmer than -81°F, which is the average temperature on Mars. So I’m going to call my pizza parlor Our Pizza Tastes Better Than Kobe Bryant’s Butt.
Now, I have never tasted Kobe Bryant’s butt. And I don’t ever want to. I don’t even want to be within ten feet of it. Twenty feet, more likely. Actually, let’s make it thirty - give or take. I prefer give.
Why Kobe Bryant? Because he’s a guy all of us recognize. And he’s a guy a lot of us just don’t like. We will probably never know whether or not he raped that girl. But the evidence is clear that he is a grade-A bunghole. Remember that public apology, in which we didn’t hear much apology? The only reason he was “disgusted with [him]self” was because he got caught in a painfully public way.
But where does the butt come in? Let’s do a little exercise. Reach behind yourself, shove your finger into your underpants, scratch the crack of your butt, then sniff that finger. (P.S. Be alone when you do this exercise.) That is what Kobe’s butt most likely smells like. That is not what any pizza coming out of my kitchen will smell like.
I could name my pizza parlor Our Pizza Smells Better Than Bell Peppers, but for some reason unfathomable to me, people actually eat those evil mo-fos. On their pizza!
I will not only have one person taking pictures of my sign. I will have hundreds, every day! It will be like Academy Awards night outside my pizza parlor, 24/7. And those who want to see the sign might, just might, want to step inside, and if they are hungry right now they will sit down, and if they will be hungry later they will pick up a take-home menu so they can order a pizza and mount the box on the wall for the amusement of guests, and if someone has an ice cream jones I will have a cooler filled with Klondike bars and ice cream sandwiches, and I will have a life-size plastic statue of Kobe, in his Laker uniform, with red horns sticking out of his head, reaching down in his shorts and scratching his butt.
(Um, that might be even more gross than the Alien alien.)