Pie v. 33 year old digestive track = The Pie wins

The Pie is the best pizza in Utah - hands down. In fact, it is just as good as anything I have had in Pennsylvania, New York or pretty much anywhere else in the nation.  I'm not sure what their secret is.  The extra cheese?  The sweetened sauce?  The eclectic, underground atmosphere?  It's all delicious.

When I was a teenager, or in college for that matter, I could sit in that basement lair and down slice after slice of scrumptious cheese dunes.  I recall once going with a bunch of buddies, ordering the giant pie and dropping pound after pound of palatable, saucy glory down my gullet.  I must have eaten 8 slices that night, and the amazing thing is - I probably went and played 2 hours of basketball immediately afterward.

This eve's sapid venture was not as well received by my abdomen as when I was a young lad.  By the forth slice, I had become a hunched mound of man-sweat on a bench. Moving had become an inconvenience.  That forth slice... that forth slice is always a claptrap.  It's like it looks up at me and that divine cheese molds into a delectable mouth.  "I know I look good Abe.  I put on this little number just for you, you sexy man.  Heck, I even threw on the mushroom necklace as a seductive tease.  Forget what your innards are trying to tell you.  I... your forth slice, am your cruelest mistress.  I look good now, but you know you're going to regret me in a couple hours."

After waddling to the car, crawling into the house and crashing on the couch, I suddenly felt a cringe of guilt.  I felt other cringes, but I am pretty sure one of them was a guilt cringe.  I mustered up enough energy to pull on some sweats. I jogged 4 miles in the rain.  The entire time, it felt as though I was carrying a five pound pouch of broken marbles in the front of my hoodie.  Whenever I have a meal like this and run, my acid reflux really acts up and I am re-tasting my meal the entire time.  Each time I burped up Pie acid, I thought, "That's right... I am a health machine.  No wonder we have that Shape magazine subscription."

I ran four miles.  Probably just enough to burn off that ranch dressing I dipped my breadsticks in.