Yeah…so it’s been a minute since I told a story about my wonderful father whom my mother often referred to as “the black Clark W. Griswold.”

And that, he is!

Anyway, one random Friday night in 1982, on the rare occassion that my Dad was off work, we planned to have a family pizza night!

YAAASSSS!

Well…Er…

Let me advise you to please hold your excitement because THIS pizza night, unfortunately, did NOT involve Pizza Hut…

Nor did it include Godfathers…

and Dominos was nowhere to be found!

Uh oh….

THIS pizza night was compliments of my Daddy!

Ugh!

And so…

In the pursuit of prime pizza ingredients, Dad hopped in his 260-Zx and drove down to the local Winn Dixie to purchase a box of Chef Boyardee Family Pizza…

Just like the one pictured above.

Ta Da!!!!!

Now then…

It is important to note that all of the ingredients to any normal pizza are NOT included in the box.

Did I have to actually say that?

Anyway, with that being the case, my Dad was left to his own devices which can be quite problematic to say the least!

So, off he goes over to the refrigerated section where he bypassed the pepperoni, and made a beeline for a huge box of country sausages!

Yes, my loves, you read that correctly!

The man bought Roger Wood Country sausages just like these:

Ok..

After Dad’s quick trip to the store, he commenced to get down to the business of preparing pizza for the family!

Being the genius that he is, he properly followed all of the directions, as given by our dear Mr. Boyardee.

But then, in a tragic twist of events, he decided to veer from the script by cutting up several links of those Roger Wood Sausages to be gingerly placed on top of his edible masterpiece.

Next, of course, he baked it!

And when it was done, we overlooked the fact that Daddy’s pizza was

completely drench with about a liter of Roger Wood sausage oil…

notwithstanding all of the grease from the hoop cheese that he piled on that sucker!

We overlooked the odd smell of the canned pizza sauce which was now inextricably married to this horridly fake Italian cuisine tomfoolery!

Yes!

We overlooked ALL. Of. THAT!

And

we

ate

that

pizza!

Fast forward about two hours…

I spent the rest of the night puking up everything that I had ever eaten in the year of our LORD 1981 and, no doubt, ’82.

Baby, trust me when I tell you that I didn’t touch another slice of pizza until late 1986!

Rest assured, my Daddy gave us all a night to remember!

But what else do you expect from the black Clark W. Griswold?

By the way… don’t tell him, but I bought this God awful thing to give him for Father’s Day because it is sooooooooo Dad!

Seriously?

Who needs a hot dog cooked any faster?

The answer?

My Dad!

Love you Daddy!

-LadyG

NOTE:  Please check out Daddy’s stories about Railroad life under the category “True Railroad Stories.”