I just ordered a pizza.

They were deemed insignificant upon adding hot wings to the order.
 
It's easy here. We turn on our oven and call-in an order to the bake-your-own parlor a mile away over mountain dirt roads. Then we get dressed and drive the 4x4 past the bear scat, potholes, and nudist camp. They've built the pizza by the time we reach the drive-through parlor, and our oven's hot by the time we return. A few minutes later we drag out a bottle of dago red and we're happy. No problem.

We never got into a Japanese-style pizza like peanutbutter-shrimp-pesto. Not brave.
 
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