Hot Foot

This post has nothing to do with the spell of the same name cast by Ace Longpaw.

No, my readers, this is a REAL LIFE post.

Because all the whining about dailies has pretty much already been done by people far more eloquent than me.

Tir is under the weather.

He asked for pizza rolls.

Why anyone would want to eat these things at all, let alone while sick, is beyond me.

(For those that don’t know, a pizza roll is an attempt to convert pizza into bite-sized pizza pockets. These frozen little treats are comprised of a ravioli-type crust stuffed with cheese, sauce, and whatever is included in “combination” toppings.)

Making the pizza rolls isn’t difficult.

Place on tray, toss in pre-heated toaster oven, wander away, run back when it beeps.

Serving pizza rolls is more challenging.

I was in the process of herding the rolls off the baking tray on to a plate when one wily roll decided that making a break for it couldn’t possibly be worse than his expected demise involving sour cream.

And so this brave pizza roll flung himself from the tray to the floor.

I’m guessing since pizza rolls don’t have eyes it was hard for the little guy to pick his landing spot.

The pizza roll hit my foot.

Mind you, these little suckers come out of the toaster oven at about 1.4 million Kelvin. Yes, my toaster oven is that awesome.

The impact forced open the seams of the roll, erupting its gooey contents of tomato paste lava across my bare flesh.



It’s just a little bit of pizza sauce, it’s no big deal.

Keep calm and continue shoveling rolls onto the plate. I can deal with this in a minute.

To which my body responded, “No, actually you’re going to deal with this shit RIGHT NOW!”


Wipe it off and survey the damage, already have a baby blister forming.

I don’t burn. I just don’t.

(With the exception of sunburns. That asshole sun is trying to kill me.)

As a toddler, I managed to pull a fresh pot of coffee off a counter on top of myself. No burn.

I’ve managed to place my hands directly on uncounted burners, griddles, and grills. Small white spots that faded into obscurity.

Working at the lab I had a flask shatter on the hot plate, coating everything in a 5-foot radius (including me) with boiling agar. Turned pink but was back to normal by the time my supervisor found the accident report paperwork. (Which surprisingly got zero use with me working there, you think we would have needed that shit on a daily basis.)

But here I am, the morning after, nursing an actual burn blister on my foot, laid low by a pizza roll.

Fuck you, Totino’s. Just fuck you.

3 comments on “Hot Foot

  1. Telanarra says:

    I blame Tir!!!!!!!!


  2. Darraxus says:

    If you had dropped two of them, the second one would have still be frozen inside and neutralized the burn. Those Pizza bites are just like hotpockets. They only have two temps. Molten lava of the seven burning hells or glacier.




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