Her Campus Logo Her Campus Logo
This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Lafayette chapter.

Dear friends, 


I sit here penning what must be my eulogy, for I am dying. Dying of disgust.

Just ten short minutes ago, I consumed a slice of Domino’s Pizza, a mistake I will never live down. There I was, young and naive, trying to satisfy my hunger with a slice of pizza. What a fool I was. I am writing this with the help of my compatriot Meghan who is currently vomiting said pizza up, so you don’t make the same mistakes I made. 

I should have run immediately when I saw the pizza. Hell, I should have run when I smelled the pizza. That gas station bodega smell that comes hours before the pizza and leaves days later should have been warning enough. But it wasn’t. I’ve seen memes about Chuck E. Cheese pizza and I’m almost certain this is what they use. Meghan, an ardent lover of the cult classic Ratatouille, said it looked like it was made at the bad restaurant in the film. There is enough grease on the surface to change the oil in a Hummer. If you make the mistake of touching this pizza, your hand will be coated in grease for five to seven business days.

Once you taste this “pizza”, your life will never be the same. In fact, your life expectancy drops by ten to twelve years. There is enough sauce on the pizza for them to legally say they put sauce on the pizza and not a drop more. There is exactly one pepper kernel hidden in the sauce so when you taste it, you get infinitely more upset. The cheese tastes like they baked it on a sidewalk and then transferred it to the pie. The crust, however, might be the worst part of it all. It is crusty in the worst way. I feel as though I just sandpapered my tongue. It tastes like a car accident, and I’m allowed to say that because I’ve been in one. 

Immediately after eating this, I wanted to vomit. Meghan and I are currently playing a game called “Am I Vomiting from Norovirus or Domino’s Pizza?” The answer? Both. I feel horrible, both physically and emotionally. My arteries are clogged. I can only explain my state how one might feel after accidentally telling a child that Santa isn’t real. 

I will be at the gym for four hours trying to repent for the pain I’ve caused my body and then showering for eight hours. Perhaps I’ll surround myself with vegetables to try and counteract this feeling. Please don’t do this to yourself. I’m so upset. 


In mourning, 

Claire (and I guess you could say Meghan contributed something on a technicality)

Huge bagels and Soundcloud enthusiast.