I mean, look at you. Sitting there in your chair with your hair-do and your clothes. Your fancy cars and your houses, all pretty with their walls and roofs and driveways for the cars and the closets for the clothes. May I borrow some imagery from our homosexual friends? You need to come out of the closet of not having tried one of Mr. Luigi's delicious pizzas. You need to admit to the world, admit to yourself, that you are a disgusting human being. And you need to change. Not that gays are disgusting. Not all of them, anyway, not the ones who have had at least a slice of one of Mr. Luigi's delicious pizzas.

Millions of people, or at least hundreds, have walked right past Mr. Luigi's, and not even given the place a second glance. Woe betide them, I think the bible says, or Shakespeare. Woe betide the vaunted idiots who traipse carelessly past paradise. At least, in, for example, China, where there are no sidewalks that run right in front of Mr. Luigi's, those people can be, if not forgiven for their transgressions, at least understood. Not that I am advocating euthanasia, not per se. I'm just saying, if we were going to put people out of their misery because they have never tried and will never try even one bite of one slice of one of Mr. Luigi's delicious pizzas, at least the ones we kill, with bullets, in China, will be killed as we shed tears, sorry for their godless plight. Oh, but the ones who have walked right past the place? No tears on those bullets. We'll use a machete, and let their blood serve as a warning: Tread ye not on the pavement before Mr. Luigi's save you've consumed at least a morsel of a bite of a slice of a delicious pizza from therein.

Evil. It exists, and it is in the hearts of those who have taken notice of Mr. Luigi's, have walked by, and seen it for what it is, have even inhaled the heady aromas of one of Mr. Luigi's delicious pizzas, and have still not eaten one. Somewhere there is a man watching a mother beat her child and he does not intervene even though he knows the child is innocent of the crime for which it is being punished, and this man is still not as bad as those who have through their nose been tantalized by one of Mr. Luigi's delicious pizzas and have not done anything to obtain a slice.

And people who have gone into the place? Who have been there, have ordered, maybe, a diet coke, or, god split me in two with rusty instruments, a salad? But no pizza? There are no words to describe such people. Such people cannot exist. Scientists posit parallel worlds, where every possible permutation and combination of the human condition, everything one can imagine has existed in some form or another. But not this. To say that to go into Mr. Luigi's and not wipe on one's gum the residue from a finger from picking up a morsel of a bite of a slice of one of his delicious pizzas is to not merely defy the very laws of physics but to render impossible the existence of anything, ever. Look to Descartes, even you nihilists who revel in the idea that there is no Mr. Luigi's, no delicious pizza, look to Descartes, for to make such an assertion is to be and to be is to be in a world where there are delicious pizzas from Mr. Luigi, and if you have never eaten one of them, you are more than damned, you are decay, you are entropy, you are not fit to be. Abomination. If there was a word for such a thing that is so awful that no word can be given to it, you would be the way the ear bleeds when hearing that word, you.

I would like to humbly suggest that you go and get yourself one of Mr. Luigi's delicious pizzas as soon as possible, which, according to various texts, would be immediately. Mr. Luigi's is not open twenty-four seven, so I would like to humbly suggest you bend the space-time continuum so that he is open when you get there. And thank God when you do it, for if there is a God, you will know Him in that first Bite.