Pizza. Ausgerechnet Pizza. Keine Banane.

Pizza. Ausgerechnet Pizza. Keine Banane. Nein. Auf einem Stück seiner Leib- und Magenspeise musste er ausrutschen. Heilige Scheiße! Welcher Honk hatte die denn fallen lassen?

The Pizza Nazi was screaming at everyone. Unfortunately, he was working at Dominoes so the assistant manager told him, "Zip it-zee, Dieter! Or your out on your ass!"

Dieter toned it down. He lightly goose-stepped to his waiting car with his pizza box in tow. He didn't want to lose a job where he was encouraged to drive like on the autobahn.

It was too bad that his rather large body didn't quite fit into what they called a delivery car. As excited as Dieter was to be driving on the autobahn, he was not the least bit

unplump. A system of Oktoberfest cranes transported Dieter to the sausage table when his autobahnmobile broke down from a lack of not exploding. "Dieter" was said with a long "e"

and so when the pretty lil' frauleins saw Dieter being brought over to the sausage table it was like "Deeeeeeeeter!" They gathered round the sausage table to watch Deiter make

sausage. But Deiter/Dieter didn't feel like making sausage today. The once-jolly corpulent man stared down at the table and sobbed silently for forty-five minutes. The frauleins

hooks were in deep this time. But D/D pulled himself together. If he reconstituted the sausage & transformed it into a fennel & lamb hash he could still have a shot at this thing.

The hash was perfect, the lamb sweet and rich cut through with the aniseed flavour of the fennel with undernotes of cinnamon, cumin and saffron. So he won. Yay!