That's Not My Pizza, Get Out

''That's not my pizza, get out,'' was my only interaction with a man I might like otherwise. He seemed like he had a hardened outer shell of a personality, but a nose to the grindstone type of guy I would end up liking, not unlike the seemingly surly Peruvian cook from South Street Pizzeria that really just wanted to learn good enough English to gain citizenship and cook good pizzas and be outwardly surly to the timid waitress and myself. The man (not surly Peruvian, the antagonist of my story) owned a sandwhich, pizza and salad shop next to Instanbul Pizza, where I got a 20 Kr. square folded pizza with mushrooms and meatballs among other things (they sell 13 Kr. plain slices however.) After bringing my slice into his establishment to eat with others, he was told by an employee of my action and came out from the back briskly and said that line; the line I will only know this man as for the rest of my life. Maybe he's actually a silly silly man who plays goofy pranks on people and then giggles like a 6th grade me, but maybe today his bike was stolen after finding out his wife is a closet lesbian who plans to move to Cyprus ''to dance.'' Or maybe he's just a prick.

Either way, I went back to the University to meet up with Roger, Peter and Sarah which turned out to be a pleasant lunch. Among other things, we discussed the pros and cons of getting our heroine at the Netto as opposed to Irma. Pros of Netto: cheaper heroine, can also purchase cheaper cereal, food goods. Pros of Irma: organic heroine, fair-trade heroine, can also purchase more granola-y cereal.

After lunch, Roger and myself scoped out the University m&m dispensers which are not connected to the ground, and are somewhat light, and have a plastic encasing for the m&m's. We also meticulously planned out purchasing a beaver. Roger will stand in front of me and the beaver. I will hold a lighter up to the plastic encasing of the m&m machine, creating a small hole. We will switch places and Roger will hold the beaver as it gnaws through the plastic using the small hole I created while I stand in front to block anyone. One of us, probably me but Roger can do it if he wants to that bad or asks me, will hold a bag and get the m&m's out of the machine.

I also might see Islands tonight (the band, not the landform (I immediately hate myself for writing that parenthetical but I have to do it for clarification (This one too) ) ) at Vega, a sweet dance club in Vesterbro. If I do go, hopefully it will only be the non-dairy whipped cream on an epic night disturbingly-moist pound cake. Cheers to you if you figured that sentence out.