Yes, this blog title is as misleading as the false advertising this blog posting gripes about. I was fortunate enough to help an MS Walk at work by contributing my spare change. 50 Cents! Pizzeria flavored Combos! No freaking way!!

Yeah..that was until I started munching on these little pizza shops. See, I was expecting exactly what it said. Pizzeria Pretzels. I mean…yes…I was confused when it said “Made with Real Cheese” on the front, because there’s no pizzeria I’ve ever been to that used cheese as a construction material, but hey. I don’t know much about Italians. Or people who pretend to be Italian.
Where was I…oh yes…these little ‘pazzi houses’ burst in my mouth, not like penetrating drywall, copper wiring, or steel ovens…but like dry, unloved cheese dust mixed with cheap American-like-Italian seasoning, which is probably supposed to be put on sugary pastries instead of pizzas, because it was sweeter than sugar. And while sucking down each water-sapping bite, my friend Tim remarked that it should taste like sweaty Italians. This is true, no matter how disturbing Tim is…these little pods destined for my gastric juices like torpedoes in the English Channel…
They WERE salty, Tim. Too salty to be enjoyable. You can rest in the thought, my friend.
If I wasn’t so upset I’d write a letter and complain. Don’t call your pretzel “Pizzeria”. Some crazed workaholic will mistake your junk food(ie. the only food consumed) for some sort of masochistic punishment which will relieve myself of the real pains I want to avoid, punishing myself only for putting myself in pain in the first place, only to discover that I’m punishing myself even more by eating this…product.
Yes, beat me more.