“The Monster I Am” Aka “Pineapples on Pizza”

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I’m crazy.

Let’s just start with getting that one out of the way.

I – Am – Crazy.

Nuts. Weird. An oddball. There’s just something wrong with me.

You see…

I like pineapples on pizza.

I know. Horrible, isn’t it? It’s one of those things where I know that it’s wrong, but I just can’t help myself. I mean, some people like necrophilia. Other people fuck farm animals. And I… I like pineapples on pizza.

Forgive me.

It’s just so delicious. The juiciness and the freshness of the pineapple that keeps the meat and white bread from becoming cloying. It’s the perfect condiment. I can just feel myself starting to drool as I write this post.

I suppose I could stop myself from eating it. Just because I can’t control my liking it, doesn’t mean I can’t control my actually eating it. There are countless of recovering alcoholics out there, and if they can do it, surely, I can as well.

I just don’t want to.

Perhaps I’m weak.

Perhaps I should be ashamed.

…

And perhaps… perhaps it’s just some freaking pineapple on a freaking pizza?

So… why care?

Let the people have their pineapples.

We’re not forcing you to eat it.

That’s step two.