“Your Honor,” Frank said, “I didn’t know that being a resident of Santa Buffoona meant I had to buy one medium pizza a week from the Mayor’s restaurant. Nobody ever told me.”
“Ignorance is no excuse,” said the judge. “Normally, I’d make an exception, but you’re in arrears for $360. Considering a medium pizza costs $12—a bargain in my estimation—that means you’ve willfully disobeyed the laws of this city for thirty weeks straight.”
“Even if I knew about the law, Your Honor, I’d have to plead for an exemption. Pizza makes me violently sick. Even a whiff of it makes me heave my guts out. Besides that, being forced to order a pizza every week is just about the dumbest law I ever heard of. I thought I lived in America, not some back water dictatorship.”
“Your medical problems are not the concerns of the city of Santa Buffoona. And I don’t like your attitude about city ordinances passed by our esteemed city council, of which my son is a member. You are hereby sentenced to thirty weeks confinement at the Santa Buffoona Pizza Reeducation Center. One week for every week you’ve failed to purchase and consume a pizza.” The judge banged his gavel and yelled, “Next case!”
Frank was taken away in chains.
When he arrived at the Pizza Reeducation Center, he noticed the odor of freshly baked pizza. He became violently ill and threw up on the two bruisers who escorted him. One of them thumped Frank’s head with a billy club.
When Frank awoke, he found himself strapped to a table. Surrounding him were several people in costumes. One looked like a mushroom. Others looked like a piece of pepperoni, ball of cheese, giant tomato, and slice of pizza. Only their faces, arms, and legs showed.
“Why are you people dressed like a bunch of loonies?” Frank asked.
“I've never witnessed such hostility," the guy in the mushroom outfit said to the others. “He doesn’t realize how much we love him.”
“It’s a shame,” said the woman in a pepperoni costume. “Well, we have the cure for that, don’t we?”
“Yes,” said the cheese. “Okay, on the count of three, let’s tell him how much we love him. One…two…three…”
“WE LOVE YOU!”
“And I HATE YOU, you stupid freaks! You should see how dumb you look dressed in those goofy outfits.”
“Let’s begin our loving treatments,” said the slice of pizza.
The tomato forced Frank’s mouth open while the mushroom guy squeezed pizza sauce from an eyedropper into his throat. Frank heaved again.
“Better get used to it,” the pepperoni said. “You’re gonna get ten drops every hour around the clock for the next thirty weeks.”
The guy dressed like a ball of cheese approached and covered Frank’s face with a cloth. He sprayed something onto the cloth that smelled cheesy. “Inhale deeply,” he ordered.
Frank held his breath.
“Besides ingesting sauce, you’ll sniff pizza cheese every hour. Now inhale, or we’ll put you in solitary confinement. But remember: no matter what happens, we love you.”
Frank inhaled, and immediately passed out.
He woke in time for the next treatment. As he was vomiting, he heard one of them say something about Dr. Pavlov, the Russian neurologist, and his methods of modifying behavior.
As the days wore on, Frank thought he was dying. But at the start of the tenth week, the vomiting suddenly stopped. And by the end of the fifteenth week, he found himself salivating and looking forward to his next feeding. He also began to feel affection for his re-educators.
“You’re responding very nicely,” the pepperoni said. “Dr. Pavlov would’ve been proud of you. Starting at midnight, we’re going to double the amounts of pizza sauce and cheese aroma. Don’t forget how much we love you.”
At the end of week 26, Frank could hardly wait for his hourly doses.
During week 27, they substituted morsels of freshly baked pepperoni pizza topped with mushrooms and extras sauce and cheese. Frank was surprised how good it tasted. His re-educators applauded when he didn’t vomit.
When week 28 began, they gave him a large slice of pepperoni pizza every hour. The first time they did this, Frank experienced a colossal orgasm when he bit into the pizza. The same thing happened during the next feeding. Frank found himself begging them to change the feeding times to every thirty minutes instead of every hour. The re-educators changed the schedule to accommodate Frank’s cravings.
“Bless you, Dr. Pavlov,” Frank moaned every time he ate pizza and was hurled into paroxysms of frenzied delight.
When Frank was released, he was brought before the judge.
“Have you learned your lesson?” the judge asked.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“From now on, will you willingly and cheerfully observe our city’s laws, especially the one that requires you to purchase and consume one medium pizza per week?”
“Absolutely.”
“Do you have anything to say for the court record?”
“Yes, Your Honor. Is there any chance of you giving me a life sentence in the Pizza Reeducation Center?”