Free-Pizza Friday

It is a statistical inevitability that when you are experiencing famine-degree hunger (when your stomach is so empty, the sloshing of your digestive juices echoes), you stuff yourself voraciously when the food finally arrives. In anticipation of a conference call, The Powers That Be generously offered to cover lunch. At the point when over-the-cubicle-wall banter about what may possibly have happened to the delivery man to cause such a horrid delay was reaching deafening levels and everyone was staring at their hands, contemplating which finger to gnaw on to stave off death, the pizza finally arrived. We all descended on the pies like wolves at a hunt and proceeded to stuff our faces silly. The kind of lightning-fast food shovel where in under thirty seconds you've managed to eat two whole slices with a combined topping count of 87 and total calorie count of "don't even bother, you can't process it all." Inevitably, you end up with a bowling ball of cheese and grease that sits in your belly like old police informants would sit in the East River after being given a pair of concrete shoes by their mob relatives. The result is almost as painful as the bone-jarring hunger and is infinitely more difficult to rid yourself of.

This is the curse of the Free-Pizza Friday.