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William Cinq

Don't ask why. You really do not want to know. Well, ok, fine... I will tell you the strange tale of the MEH Special Pizza. Remember, you asked for it.

It occurred one dark and balmy summer evening. Three Pedagogues, myself included, shared the warmth and comfort of Stuft Pizza with several assorted and sordid friends. Tales of larcenous adventures from the past, plans for future gatherings, and pure, unflavored lunacy flowed from one mouth to waiting ears throughout the establishment. Pizza disappeared in seconds, pitchers of root beer emptied faster than those stamp machines in the post office which never give the correct change anyway, and the closing time was soon upon us. We begged its pardon and forcefully removed it.

Helpful as always, the MEH Multitudes aided in the clean-up proceedings. Or at least tried.

Pedagogue John volunteered to retrieve the patio furniture. Carrying several chairs, a foot of his tripped a nearby leg, and John flew as gracefully as an anvil for well over seventeen inches before coming to rest near the ovens.

Same time, same place, different Pedagogue John attempted to wash the dirty dishes, glasses, and silverware. One wet plate, being slippery when wet, slipped out of his well-soaped hands and made a wild dash for the floor, where it was gladly dashed to smithereens by the placating floor and gravity.

Same time, same place, Pedagogue William took a long forgotten sausage and bell pepper pizza out of the oven and began to transport the pie to the counter. My plans fell prey to fate and fire, for I belatedly realized that the pizza was still hot. My first clue, you ask? A clean, confident, sizzling sound preceding the union of the pizza pan and my fingers. The second clue? My own howl of pain.

I tossed the pizza towards the far counter as a body slammed into my legs. I calmly questioned John's intent -- he rarely attacks my legs off the playing field -- as I crashed to the tile floor.

All three of these catastrophes coaxed simultaneous, panic-induced, screams in three-part harmony.

"MEH!!!!"

WARNING: Never over-use exclamation points with MEH.

Such a mess sober eyes have never seen. Flour, tomato sauce, diet cola, pepperoni chunks, a 32b bra, a jar of mayonnaise, several G.I. Joe action figures, pans, cutlery, a cucumber who thought he was a pickle, sunglasses, and various other unmentionable and/or unrecognizable items layered the floors, counters, walls, and people in a sticky, multicolored goo.

A pause of concentrated concentration occurred. Try it yourself. Weird isn't it? Nothing came of it, however.

Anyway, we did not know what to do first. Luckily someone did.

"Oh, big time trouble. Big MEH, big mess. This is a bad scene guys."

Helpful Greg. Brilliant Greg. Observant Greg. Charitable Greg?

"You better clean this up. I'm outta here."

Screw Greg.

We watched him walk away, his head shaking and his palm striking his forehead repeatedly. We were then surprised to whirl around and look behind ourselves. Ever turn around very suddenly, and not know why? Not exactly good for the equilibrium. We were beside ourselves with confusion and probably next door with a little help.

But this time we had found the person who knew. There sat the MEH Guru. The Guru is always a sight to behold and tonight was no exception. Thick tomato sauce dripped from his flour caked torso as the melted cheese beaded in his hair. Toppings of all descriptions dotted his body. He casually drank Budweisser from a Styrofoam cup and munched on a slice of unsightly pizza. We were truly dumbfounded now. Indeed, Jody and Scott found us, and they too were struck with awe -- they tried to file charges of assault and battery, but the judge said it was more like a salt-substitute and meatballs.

An Aweful, awful belch echoed throughout the building as the Guru let loose.

"MEH. Good." I remember falling into unconsciousness.

When we awoke, "clean" sparkled from every surface in the restaurant. The counter we found barren except for one note, one pizza, one pitcher of Dr. Pepper, and a stopwatch. The note said simply (you guessed it) "MEH." Of course, this meant that the Great Wise Sharp-dressing Chief MEH himself had fixed everything for us, even Pedagogue John's parking tickets, and had enjoyed the food as well. So much so, in all truth, he created his own special pizza, just for us. He also wished us luck and threatened to visit us again soon.

We looked at the seven piece pizza with timidity. I think it moved. John still swears it spun around, barked, and called him a cheeselog. we are not sure. But the toppings were obvious enough. A few gobs of sour cream adorned the pepperoni and red onion covered pizza. A handful of pineapple bits formed the angular MEH Symbol. With gusto, relish, and our mouths, we devoured the pizza. Yum yum burp. We also had to pay the Guru's food bill.

MEH.