Read Online Lizard Music by Daniel Pinkwater - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Daniel Pinkwater
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prepackaged food, and I couldn’t see what that could have to do with pod people. Still it sort of spoiled my appetite for those TV dinners. I thought about something not prepackaged to eat. I had already done the egg thing. The frying pan was still soaking to get some of the black off. I didn’t feel like cooking again.
I was looking around the kitchen, thinking about what to have for supper, when I noticed the calendar from the Pizza Palace. Every so often my family orders a pizza from the Pizza Palace. They bring it right to the house. The only thing is, nobody in my family likes anchovies. I mean, they hate anchovies. Not one of them can even stand to look at an anchovy. It makes them sick if they even think there’s an anchovy in the same room with them. I love anchovies. I don’t know how I found out about them—it sure wasn’t at home. Now, there is nothing to prevent ordering a pizza from the Pizza Palace and telling the man that you only want anchovies on half the pizza, or a quarter of the pizza. We do that with sausage because we all like it except Leslie. Of course she doesn’t hate sausage—I mean she doesn’t want to have a war against sausages. She just doesn’t care to have sausage on her pizza. It’s perfectly reasonable. She doesn’t want sausage, she doesn’t have to eat sausage. As I understand it, that’s why America is a great country. Nobody has to eat sausage if they don’t want to. But anchovies are a different story. Especially Leslie, but Mom and Dad too,
freak out
about anchovies. They won’t let me eat them in their presence. Even if I were to take my special anchovy slices of pizza away and eat them in another room, Leslie would start screaming that she could taste anchovies in her pizza and gagging and carrying on. Therefore I almost never get to have pizza with anchovies, although I am an American too.
I called the Pizza Palace and ordered a pizza with double anchovies. I switched on the TV and sat down to wait for my pizza. I had already checked the icebox—there was plenty of milk. That’s another thing they can’t stand. I like milk with my anchovy pizza. They won’t even let me talk about it. The only time I ever get it is when I am over at Howard Foster’s house. I have rights, just like anybody else.
The quiz program, the one where the people climb out of a greased pit with a mouthful of money, was just ending. The announcer was telling how they spray the money with Lysol at the beginning of each show so the contestants won’t get sick from the germs on the money. The doorbell rang—that didn’t take long. I went to the door. There was Charlie! He was carrying a big cardboard pizza box.
“Hey, Victor!” he said. “Is this where you live?” Apparently Charlie delivered pizzas part-time. He handed me the box. “Anchovies, ugh!” he said. “That will be three dollars.” I paid him. “I’ve got to run—lots of pizzas to deliver,” Charlie said. “Are we still meeting at Fergussen’s place in the A.M. ?”
“Sure,” I said.
“See you then. By the way, don’t miss the late movie—it’s a good one.” He was gone.
I checked the TV listings. The late movie was
Invasion of the Fat Men
. It did sound interesting. The bell rang again. It was Charlie.
“I almost forgot to tell you—bring a bathing suit, and a big plastic garbage bag, and some strong twine.” Then he was off again.
Bathing suit? Garbage bag? Twine? I didn’t understand any of this. I sat down again. The Roger Mudd show had already started. My pizza was cooling on the kitchen table. You can never trust a pizza until it is really good and cold. A pizza that only seems warm to the touch can still give a serious pizza burn. Hot pockets of molten cheese are lurking under the surface. The smart way to eat a pizza is to give it at least twenty minutes to cool off before you put your teeth into it. Some people never learn this. My sister, Leslie, for example—there’s no point in
I was looking around the kitchen, thinking about what to have for supper, when I noticed the calendar from the Pizza Palace. Every so often my family orders a pizza from the Pizza Palace. They bring it right to the house. The only thing is, nobody in my family likes anchovies. I mean, they hate anchovies. Not one of them can even stand to look at an anchovy. It makes them sick if they even think there’s an anchovy in the same room with them. I love anchovies. I don’t know how I found out about them—it sure wasn’t at home. Now, there is nothing to prevent ordering a pizza from the Pizza Palace and telling the man that you only want anchovies on half the pizza, or a quarter of the pizza. We do that with sausage because we all like it except Leslie. Of course she doesn’t hate sausage—I mean she doesn’t want to have a war against sausages. She just doesn’t care to have sausage on her pizza. It’s perfectly reasonable. She doesn’t want sausage, she doesn’t have to eat sausage. As I understand it, that’s why America is a great country. Nobody has to eat sausage if they don’t want to. But anchovies are a different story. Especially Leslie, but Mom and Dad too,
freak out
about anchovies. They won’t let me eat them in their presence. Even if I were to take my special anchovy slices of pizza away and eat them in another room, Leslie would start screaming that she could taste anchovies in her pizza and gagging and carrying on. Therefore I almost never get to have pizza with anchovies, although I am an American too.
I called the Pizza Palace and ordered a pizza with double anchovies. I switched on the TV and sat down to wait for my pizza. I had already checked the icebox—there was plenty of milk. That’s another thing they can’t stand. I like milk with my anchovy pizza. They won’t even let me talk about it. The only time I ever get it is when I am over at Howard Foster’s house. I have rights, just like anybody else.
The quiz program, the one where the people climb out of a greased pit with a mouthful of money, was just ending. The announcer was telling how they spray the money with Lysol at the beginning of each show so the contestants won’t get sick from the germs on the money. The doorbell rang—that didn’t take long. I went to the door. There was Charlie! He was carrying a big cardboard pizza box.
“Hey, Victor!” he said. “Is this where you live?” Apparently Charlie delivered pizzas part-time. He handed me the box. “Anchovies, ugh!” he said. “That will be three dollars.” I paid him. “I’ve got to run—lots of pizzas to deliver,” Charlie said. “Are we still meeting at Fergussen’s place in the A.M. ?”
“Sure,” I said.
“See you then. By the way, don’t miss the late movie—it’s a good one.” He was gone.
I checked the TV listings. The late movie was
Invasion of the Fat Men
. It did sound interesting. The bell rang again. It was Charlie.
“I almost forgot to tell you—bring a bathing suit, and a big plastic garbage bag, and some strong twine.” Then he was off again.
Bathing suit? Garbage bag? Twine? I didn’t understand any of this. I sat down again. The Roger Mudd show had already started. My pizza was cooling on the kitchen table. You can never trust a pizza until it is really good and cold. A pizza that only seems warm to the touch can still give a serious pizza burn. Hot pockets of molten cheese are lurking under the surface. The smart way to eat a pizza is to give it at least twenty minutes to cool off before you put your teeth into it. Some people never learn this. My sister, Leslie, for example—there’s no point in
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