HELLO, 911-1111? IF THIS WERE 911 INSTEAD, I’D BE DEAD BY NOW.

Hello. I’m the latest addition to Bogchinoypi’s line-up of writers. I should caution you though: I’m completely new to this, whether “blogging” in general, or writing about food. I guess I’m saying this to all the readers who frequent this site—yes, both of you—in the hopes of lowering your expectations and, therefore, inflating your opinion about this article.

For my inaugural post (and quite possibly my last post, depending on whether this blog’s "chowers that be" decide I’m too offensive or annoying to keep writing here), I decided to write about pizza. Pizza Hut, in particular. Their delivery hotline, to be even more precise. Yes, this is not about the quality of their toppings, or how crunchy or golden brown their crust is, or how their pizzas generally taste (Answer: their pizzas are pretty good; sh*t, this “food blogging” thing is easier than I thought).

Instead, I want to write—rant, really—about the spiel which their call center agents give me each and every single goddamn time I call 911-1111 to order a stupid pizza (so, for everyone who came to this blog looking for useful tips on where or what to eat, you’ve been warned about the enormous amount of your time that’s about to be wasted. Continue reading this profanity-ridden, amateurishly formatted and pitifully unfunny post at your own risk).