A Tale of Woe

Our tale beginneth at half past the hour of seven, on the six and twentieth day of December, in the year of our Lord 2010. Yesterday hath Christmas, and not a merrier day have we seen lo these many years, with food and wine and gift abounding. Yea, our spirit would be not dampened by hunger the following eve, and so we vociferated the nearest Inn of Pizza forthwith.

Verily they said unto us, we have no thin-crust pizza dough, but upon the hour of eight we shalt have it, and have it in abundance. Hearing this gospel, we decreed our delicatation and sojourned forth to claim our accolde with abandon, bearing with us a gift for the Inn-keepers, a docket that bore the legend of a one-topping large carryout for $7.99.

Yea, we journeyed into the cold darkness of night until the light of the Inn illuminated in all its glory. Famished and permeated with glee, we entered the Inn bearing our docket, having entered into an accord with the Innkeeper before our departure, and eager to partake of our large, single topping thin-crusted and perfectly seasoned delight.

Though upon our arrival, the Innkeeper presented us with an offering of a medium, hand-tossed pie. And lo - there was much weeping and gnashing of teeth, renting of garments, and wearing of black sack cloth. And verily I spoke unto them, we ordered a large thin crust.

And so the Innkeeper lamented; issuing forth a declaration that there was no dough for thin crust, but that if we waited for another 30 minutes or so they would have some. And lo - a manager did appear, and the glory of the Inn shone all around him; and yea, he ran away and disappeared, for he was sore afraid.

The Inkeeper madeth not any attempt to rectify the situation, nor to be our redeemer, nor to make our excursion rightous and fruitful. And yea, I said unto them that we shalt, with great sadness that shalt spread across the land and unto the fourth generation, effect our departure. And so we left the Inn, and rendered $8.00 unto Ceaser's in parlay for a regular pepperoni and seasoned slices of a leavened loaf, promising herewith an abundance of such lunacy.

So speaketh Ian; may the Inn persevere through their iniquities, and yea may the Inn seek to better it's customer service, which stinketh of death and desolation; of rot and apathy. Though until then; we shalt not cross the desert of their wickedness, nor indulge their grievance.

Here endeth the tale of woe.