Thank You, Guy

Butler supreme.

I know what you’re thinking. “This deep dish pizza looks very different in person than it did in its online profile picture.” Well, sometimes pizza can be just as vain and shallow as humans. It’s a fact of life-one that I will be explaining to my spawn as soon as they can understand words. Wait, that’s not what you were thinking? Oh. Then, pray, do, tell, me, you. I see. You were thinking, “This guy is a hack. He hasn’t even written any butler jokes!” [rolls up sleeves, spits into palms, rubs hands together, gets down into four-point stance, throws out back, rests in bed for four weeks, recovers, gets back down into four-point stance, offensive lineman pass protection shuffles to desk, starts writing] Here’s what I would do if I had a butler. First off, I would name him (or her) Guy Fieri, after the famous surrealist gastronomical performance artist. Each morning, Guy would be tasked with preparing breakfast: two fried eggs and two meatless sausage patties with a generous squirting of hot sauce for me, a short stack of pancakes with raspberry jam and whipped cream for Wife, and seared swordfish steak for Cat. After breakfast, Guy, who is also a skilled auto mechanic, would “Pimp” both of our rides in styles inspired by various top-selling popular cultural trends and acceptable social mores of the day. After that, Guy would make our beds. That’s pretty much it. Since I actually enjoy doing housework and cooking meals, Guy would be free to play Xbox for the rest of the day.


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