[Copypasta] Sheldon says BAZINGA

"I've never been a fan of Internet Explorer" Crowd laughs nervously and a few grunts are heard from the back seats as people edge closer to hear the punchline. "Why not? Don't you like the internet?" The crowd suddenly stands up, aware that they are about to receive what they came for. People slowly edge closer to the set as Sheldon prepares for his next line. Sweat is clearly visible on his brow and his mouth is quivering in anticipation as he readies himself for what is about to happen. "I just prefer Firefox because, like the fox, I am cunning and nimble." The crowd suddenly surges forward as the words escape Sheldon's mouth. They are so powerful, they almost shake the very foundations of the CBS studios. He watches as, in what he perceives as slow motion, the crowd moves toward his fragile body. He has been preparing for this moment his whole life. This is his moment. This is his Emmy. This is his Golden Globe. This is even his Oscar. The crowd converges around him so quickly they ignore the trampled cries of Leonard and Penny, who now lie shaking on the floor, their bones crushed by the sheer mass of the crowd. Sheldon stares back at the eyes around him. What he sees are no longer people. What he sees is the human psyche stripped down to its core. Their lives, what they were before this moment has been forgotten. Ravenous. Hungry. They want one thing from him. Sheldon closes his eyes, clears his mind and relaxes his body. What happens next depends completely on the next few seconds. The time between this and what he mutters next feels like an eternity. Slowly, he opens his eyes. He looks at Leonard, then at Penny, both lying lifeless on the floor. Without a second thought, he says with resounding conviction... "BAZINGA" In a split second, the crowd pounces on his ready and waiting body. Man, woman, child all at once. Sheldon cries out in complete ecstasy as they consume his flesh. He stops suddenly, as he drifts into eternal slumber. Peace at last.
April 2021
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Hello, is this Pizza Hut? Excellent. My name is Ben Shapiro. Conservative thought leader. Prominent white YouTuber. The Muggsy Bogues of the intellectual dark Web. And—look, it’s just a fact—I would like to order some pizza pie. If you are triggered by that request, I do not care. I truly do not. Now let’s discuss conditions. First, thank you for agreeing to debate me. Typically, in fora such as this, I am met with ad-hominem mudslinging, anything from “You racist creep” or “Is that your real voice?” to raucous schoolyard laughter and threats of the dreaded “toilet swirly.” However, your willingness to engage with me over the phone on the subject of pizza shows an intellectual fortitude and openness to dangerous ideas which reflects highly on your character. Huzzah, good sir. Huzzah. Second, any pizza I order will be male. None of this “Our pizza identifies as trans-fluid-pan-poly”—no. Pizza is a boy. With a penis. It’s that simple. It’s been true for all of human history, from Plato to Socrates to Mr. Mistoffelees, and any attempt to rewrite the pillars of Western thought will be met with a hearty “Fuh!” by yours truly. And, trust me, that is not a fate you wish to meet. Now. With regard to my topping preference. I have eaten from your pizzeria in times past, and it must be said: your pepperoni is embarrassingly spicy. Frankly, it boggles the mind. I mean, what kind of drugs are you inhaling over there? Pot?! One bite of that stuff and I had to take a shower. So tread lightly when it comes to spice, my good man. You do not want to see me at my most epic. Like the great white hero of Zack Snyder’s classic film “300,” I will kick you. Onions, peppers—no, thank you. If I wanted veggies, I’d go to a salad bar. I’m not some sort of vegan, Cory Booker weirdo. And your efforts to Michelle Obama-ize the great American pizza pie are, frankly, hilarious. Though not as funny as the impressively named P’Zone—when I finally figured out that genuinely creative pun, I laughed until I cried and peed. A true Spartan admits defeat, and I must admit that, in this instance, your Hut humor slayed me, Dennis Miller style. And, with that, you have earned my order. Congratulations. Ahem. Without further ado, I would like your smallest child pizza, no sauce, extra cheese. Hello? Aha. A hang-up. Another triggered lib, bested by logic. Damn it. I’m fucking starving.
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