My extreme addiction.
I like Pizza, in the morning.
I like Pizza, every day.
I like Pizza, in the evening.
I like Pizza, any way.
It's really hard for me to admit this to anyone in my life, honestly.
I'm in the depths of Siberia, enslaved by Stalin and just waiting for his reign to end, for I haven't seen civilisation (or pizza) since 1945. What is it now? Probably like 3022. Idk. I can't count. All I know is Pizza.
And I'm not even meant to like Pizza, for I am a Russian, and I'm meant to eat bears and tears, not Pizza.
I think, though I'm not sure, being enslaved all my life, that perhaps my grandmother was Italian, for none of my friends (whom are rocks, snowflakes, penguins, and polar bears) have such extreme cravings for Pizza.
I'm practically rabid. I can't withhold myself every time I think of Pizza.
I rip all my clothes right off my body and throw them to the Heavens, just wishing for a small slice. I ravage my igloo and sometimes inflict harm upon my acquaintances.
I just need help. How do I control these blind fits of horrifying, disastrous rage?
I just need Pizza!
I like pizza, pepperoni, mozzarella, and anchovy...