Domino's Pizza has recently unveiled a bold new ad campaign to spread word of their new and improved pizza recipe. In the ads, letters and Tweets from Domino's customers that criticize the company's pizza are read aloud. If you've ever battled your way through a Domino's pizza you can probably guess the direction these criticisms went. Terms like "cardboard" and "ketchup" and "cascading torrents of bile" feature prominently.
As it happens, I too have been writing letters to Domino's over the years, the timing of said letters tightly corresponding with occasions I consume Domino's Pizza. A healthy sense of self-importance has caused me to save all my correspondence - originally this was for the benefit of future scholars, but in recent years I've also decided it will be useful in case mankind ever needs to prove our civilization's cultural worth on the floor of some kind of alien tribunal.
"Such strange creatures to create beauty out of repeated use of the word 'dong.' You shall be spared."
But after a careful review of my writings and the recent ad campaign, I'm sad to say that none of my critiques of Domino's pizza were aired. I consider this a missed opportunity for Domino's, as Chris Bucholz: Man of Letters (Angry, Spittle-flecked) will be sure to be a best seller in coming years, and the chance to have a future space-Pulitzer winning author write for their ad campaign shouldn't have been passed up lightly.
To pick up the ball which Domino's Pizza has so carelessly dropped, I've decided to reprint below a selection of some of the highlights of my correspondence with them. Although I use the term "correspondence" lightly, as not once did Domino's reply to me, unless you count "by making their pizzas worse," which I don't.
My friend and I ordered a pepperoni classic today and when it arrived we found it to be incredibly chewy. He said it was because your dough isn't kneaded enough, but I suggested it was because the pizza was made entirely out of condoms. Can you settle that bet for us?
Here's a thought: How about using ingredients which impart flavor? Like basil? Or salt? Jesus Christ, people. Making a crust entirely out of flour and children's tears is commendable for its economy, but I think you might be missing pizza's whole raison d'tre: It is for being tasty.
Also, your delivery cars have the incorrect number of wheels.
Your pizza tastes like the bottom of a hamster cage, if that hamster's girlfriend had left him and he'd gotten kind of sloppy about taking care of himself.
Your pizza tastes like a fart made it with a pulp mill.
That's it. I've had enough of this post-pizza rolling on the floor holding my ass. I will run you over. I will find out who is reading this letter (You are. It's you.) and I will run you over with a car. Don't think I'm serious? I AM WRITING THIS IN MY CAR. That is how not fucking around right now I am. I am writing this on my steering wheel and it is honking every time I write a letter and now the police are coming and I will have to cut this short.
OK, they're gone.
"Child's torso stuffed crust pizza" was a terrible idea and you should be ashamed.
Did you know that the security at your corporate headquarters conduct rounds of the building every hour on the hour? And that there are no security cameras that can see the load bearing walls on the southern facing quadrant? Just thought you'd be curious.
YOU ARE RUINING MY LIFE. Apparently my company's HR policy has rules about how much ammonia fertilizer we can keep under our desks. So now guess who's out of a job? Hint: It's the same guy who's girlfriend just left him because he keeps ordering Domino's Pizza and swearing on the toilet.
P.S. It's me. I am the one who is fired.
Your pizza still tastes like a terrorist attacking an enema factory. But that's not why I'm writing you. I'm writing to tell you that your hour of judgment is at hand. I've got a sweet gig writing for a huge magazine - you'll have heard of it, it's name begins with "Cracked." I am going to use my platform at this media behemoth to destroy you and everything you hold dear. No more firing rocks at your parking lot from a tree mounted slingshot a block away. Just the simple life of an honest demagogue for me.
Welcome to hell.
P.S. I also get to sleep under my desk. Things have finally started to turn up for Bucholz.
So it turns out our magazine went under when no one bought it. My editors worry that it was my 4,000 word treatises on how man should cast off the shackles that bind him and tear Domino's employees to shreds with their hands and feet, that were "a little hard to digest."
Fortunately our website is doing OK. I've been told I have to stick to writing lists about He-Man's outfits until I learn discipline. It will probably be a couple years before I can rend the flesh from your bones with a satirical article, but rest assured I will never forget what you did to me or my bowels. Your day of reckoning will come.
In closing, I hope your children disappoint you.