Sorry, No Room at the Pizza Inn

I just finished dinner, a whole load of rice and beans. I opened the refrigerator to store some leftovers when I saw pizza from last night sitting on a shelf. It looked so lonely, so desolate. The cheese was hard like a tundra and if it could only warm itself up it would reflect my smiling face in its grease. 

My stomach was a food orphanage that couldn’t possibly fit another bite of anything, no matter how pathetic or needy it was. My heart took pity on it and forced me to take a few bites. That poor pizza just needed a place to stay.