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Now, judge me as you will, because I know that whole clams would have made for a better presentation and seemed more like something a cartoon character would eat. But I made an executive decision and settled on minced clams, figuring their flavor would better permeate the whole dish. We didn't come all this way to settle for half measures and there really should be clam in every bite.

I cracked open the can of clams, stared into its oily, milky water, and shooed my excited cat away. As for the peanut butter, I went for the junkiest crap I could find because what else would a turtle in the sewer eat? I decorated my frozen pizza and admired its "Cat Puked on It" aesthetic.

Loryn Stone

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Catnip and hairballs would actually add some much-needed color.

After baking, I opened the oven and was hit by the cooked peanut butter scent -- it actually annihilated any remnant of the seafood smell, leaving the clams totally undetectable. I thought I should take this as a good sign, before remembering that peanut butter on pizza is just as disgusting a thought as clams on pizza. Oddly enough, the pizza kind of looked the same cooked as it did raw. Goddammit, I can't believe this is about to go in my face.