The year is 2047. You’re in a dining hall on the desolate comet on which we all now live. You look down at your food, sitting on your plate. The plate is, as always, a large cheese pizza. A painful memory flashes. You ask the child next to you, “Remember when plates weren’t also made of food?” The child does not remember. The child was born after the Papa John’s Fritos Chili Pizza, which served a pile of Fritos on a pizza, and changed the arc of humanity forever.
Ian: I look at this and half of me sees “pizza,” half of me sees “place a hamster would live.”
Peter: I love it. I don’t care what’s in it. I’d eat any of you people, with enough Fritos on top.
Eva: Oh good, because the sound of people eating pizza wasn’t disgusting enough.
Mike: It’s like putting a bell on a cat–the Fritos let you know where the grossest eaters are.
Miles: Is this supposed to be a pizza, or is someone at Papa John’s just really terrible at making bread bowls?
Eva: My late grandfather used to eat a bowl of Fritos every night as a special treat. I’m sad he’s not around to die again from eating this pizza.
Mike: This is so much better than Papa John’s pizza topped with free toes. A significant improvement.
Eva: This is like that fancy pizza with arugula piled on top. I guess what I’m asking is, does this count as salad?
Robert: Finally! With all my required football viewing foods in one package, I no longer have to hold the remote with my feet.
Ann: So if I was to throw a classy dinner party, should I go with Frito pizza or Frito pie? So confused now!
Miles: They must have used five-alarm chili, because there are guys in hazmat suits here to take this pizza away.
Ian: Our shocked attitude to foods like this is so weird. A new idea! How dare they! I’ll stick with my sabre-tooth tiger meat and sucking the slime off rocks, thank you.
[The verdict: It’s Peter’s new favorite food. Most of us were pretty impressed.]
Sandwich Monday is a satirical feature from the humorists at Wait, Wait … Don’t Tell Me.