Adventures of Pizza Slut

To keep from being depressed about being the Head Pizza Slut, I have decided to compose a graphic novel based loosely on my adventures. (Minus pictures.)

Pizza Slut was all-powerful and could multitask like nobody’s business. She had the super powers of making unhappy customers satisfied, and of get the most lazy of employees to do the most disgusting of chores like scrubbing toilets and scraping crusted cheese off of pizza pans by using her secret weapons- her gargantuan boobies, which were only kept secret because of the extra safety pins she had to use in between the buttons of her managerial superhero uniform. On occasion, the buttons were unable to hold and would bust open, resulting in extra cleaning tasks being completed by those employees lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the semi-perfect cleavage. P. Slut’s only weakness was French fries. Oh, and attention given to her by anyone even remotely attractive. (Even the unattractive ones would sometimes distract her from her superhero duties.)

Anyhoo, on this particular day, P. Slut was flying around her restaurant putting proper dating labels on product and proofing dough, when she received a call from a completely unsatisfied customer.

“I am IRATE!” The customer screamed into the phone, while P.Slut tried to keep the rolling of her eyes from transmitting across the phone lines. “My pizza was made with less than the proper amount of pepperonis, and even though I ordered it easy on the pepperonis, I INSIST you make me a new one!”

P.Slut took a deep breath before she mustered up her most aquiescent customer service voice.

“I am SO sorry, ma’am, there is no excuse for such ridiculous mistakes, ESPECIALLY when you ordered it light pepperoni. My cooks OF COURSE should be able to read your mind when you order in such a way, and should surely have put the normal amount of pepperoni on your pizza. I will have them re-make it post-haste, and will fly it out to you myself.”

“Well, you had better just do that, and don’t think I’ll be giving you a tip for delivering it either. I have to buy my Pall Malls, after all.” The customer banged the phone down in P.Slut’s ear, and within moments, P.Slut was flying her super-awesome yellow Hover-Ranger to the customer’s house, Full-on pepperoni pizza in hand.

“Here you go ma’am.” P.Slut smiled politely, and bent over just enough for the woman to catch a glimpse of her super-human cleavage. The woman had been going to complain, but when she saw the most awesome boob-butt, she thought to herself that she’d better not, because there’s no telling when a woman with great tits is going to unleash a royal ass-whooping on someone who really needs it. The woman closed the door without a word, and P. Slut wiped her brow. She had once again saved her restaurant from receiving another Customer Incident Report.

The End.

If I Was A Superhero

If I was a superhero…

I would rid the world of Evildoers- mainly retailers that charge exuberant prices for shoes, and people who crunch their popcorn too loudly. I suppose I’d have to take out a few suicide bombers and terrorists too.

I would pose as a librarian, or maybe a Pizza Slut, during the day, but at night I would wear a shiny cape and be busting out of my shirt, like Superman. (Unfortuneately, I have that problem with button-up shirts anyway)

My super power would be my luscious buzooms, which would allow me to distract men from doing man-type of things, (such as watching football and other corrupt activities.) My other super power would be my charm, which I would use to tell women they are lovely, thereby making them realize that men are too busy watching football to fully appreciate them.

I would also know tai-chi, karate, and kung-fu which I have learned from an over-sized rat and his four turtle apprentices.

French fries and boners would be my kryptonite. Therefore, I would have to maintain a life of solitude, so as not to become distracted from my destiny. (however, my trusty rabbit vibrator will be on hand at all times.) Also, I would have to steer clear of fast-food restaurants.

My thigh-high sparkley boots would have platforms on them; such gadgetry comes in handy when trying to acheive certain goals-such as reaching the top shelf of bookcases. And my spandex skivvy-looking attire would have a zipper in the crotch to assure speedy bathroom breaks while I’m fighting crime.

My greatest nemeses would be bill collectors, white trash, and the oven.

Despite many close calls, and all the newspapers reporting at least 3 times that I have been defeated, I shall retire unscathed in the country, sitting in a rocking chair and drinking schnapps while reminiscing of my glory days as  da da da….Sparklewoman   Womanbumps  Sparklebumps the Woman!