em...i didnt order that on my pizza

When I first moved from the south to NYC I was often impossible to shock lest I seem like the naive redneck at heart that I am. Whether I was faking it or not, I tried not to let alarming things alarm.

So it was really no big deal when I went to the pizza place accross the street from my new apt for the first time, asked for an ATM and all of a sudden had a pile of boobs in my face.

My roomate and I often stopped for a slice returning home after booze sessions, forgetting in our blissful inebriation the sticky horror that lay a mere few feet away.