Dear EADJ,
Thanks for the letter. I'm glad you finally came around to explaining why you've been so distant for so long. I had a feeling you weren't into it anymore, so it comes as no surprise, really.
But what did surprise me was the hostility you suddenly seemed to have toward me in your letter. "Tarted up like a pizza?" "Abuse your intestines?" I don't know how I got to deserve such cruel words.
Look, you may not get it, but I am what I am. I am a pizza burger. I'm not trying to be no pizza, and I sure as hell ain't trying to just be a plain ol' burger. I'm actually neither, and more– I got pepperonis, onions, green peppers, baby. Kind of like those transvestites like Rupaul– more fabulous than a woman or a man. And if you can't deal with that, whatevers.
The fact is, I am a big favorite on many, many menus. I'm a headliner at Big Nick's in New York City. I've made several appearances on the TNT hit drama "Trust Me." Heck, even the Food Network has posted a Barack Obama Pizza Burger recipe. Try telling me that's not acceptance, not mainstream!
So I think it's all YOUR problem, Papi. You can't deal with the type of burger I am! You don't even want to step to this! I am proud of my heritage, but I will not let you nor anyone hold me back from being what I am! I've got plenty of friends to back me up, like The Snorks, so I don't need you to try to put me in one of your little category boxes! (Fact is, The Snorks have been very supportive of me throughout my career, unlike you.) And if I ever gave you gas, it's only because your weak-ass intestines couldn't handle me! Cry me a river, Mister Poopy Pants.
So just go on with your old fashioned, close-minded self, and I will continue to do my thing. Just leave me out of your stupid dick eating blog and try to stay out of my shadow.
Pizza Burger out!
Pizza Burger
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