There are few things that Jason Fetz likes more than pizza. He loves the stuff, can’t get enough. He acts like a dang dog in heat anytime he smells the darn stuff.

He gets all “hey guys. Lets get pizza!” and we’re all like “nah, I had it the other day” and then hes all “come on, lets just get a slice” so im all “no Jason Fetz, I don’t want pizza” but then hes like “just one piece, come on. It’s pizza!” but then I have to be like “stop. No. no one wants pizza” but Jason Fetz can’t stop. He can never stop.

You see, it all seeds back to when he first tried the stuff when he was three. It was his parents fault really, but they didn’t know what they were doing. No one knew what the lasting effects of pizza were back then. Regardless, Jason Fetz was hooked at a very young age. He spent a good deal of his youth trying pizza, and worse still, all the different kinds. By the time his body grew out of its youth, and puberty was only a memory, he was a full blown pizzahead. Throughout college he resorted to hanging out in front of ghettos, waiting for a pizza dealer to come and bring him his delight of delights. He would sleep through his classes, skip appointments, and eventually when he came upon his adult years; miss hours of work just to hang outside buildings trying to hustle pizza himself.

So now every time he starts begging to get pizza, I just give him a bop on the nose.
That’s why I always carry a rolled up newspaper whenever I’m with Jason Fetz.