Friday Funny ~ The FBI and Pizza

Only in America – Allegedly True Food Story From The USA

FBI agents conducted a raid of a psychiatric hospital in San Diego that was under investigation for medical insurance fraud. After hours of reviewing thousands of medical records, the dozens of agents had worked up quite an appetite. The agent in charge of the investigation called a nearby pizza place with delivery service to order a quick dinner for his colleagues.Allegedly a true story from the USA: Pizza order

The following telephone conversation took place and was recorded by the FBI because they were taping all conversations at the hospital:

Agent: Hello. I’d like to order 19 large pizzas and 67 cans of soda.

Pizza Man: And where would you like them delivered?
Agent: We’re over at the psychiatric hospital.

Pizza Man: The psychiatric hospital?
Agent: That’s right. I’m an FBI agent.

Pizza Man: You’re an FBI agent?
Agent: That’s correct. Just about everybody here is.

Pizza Man: And you’re at the psychiatric hospital?
Agent: That’s correct. And make sure you don’t go through the front doors. We have them locked. You’ll have to go around to the back service entrance to deliver the pizzas.

Pizza Man: And you say you’re all FBI agents?
Agent: That’s right. How soon can you have them here?

Pizza Man: Everyone at the psychiatric hospital is an FBI agent?
Agent: That’s right. We’ve been here all day and we’re starving.

Pizza Man: How are you going to pay for all of this?
Agent: I have my checkbook right here.

Pizza Man: And you’re all FBI agents?
Agent: That’s right. Everyone here is an FBI agent. Can you remember to bring the pizzas and sodas to the service entrance in the rear? We have the front doors locked.

Pizza Man: I don’t think so. *Click*


Have a nice weekend!


HOT! HOT! HOT! – The Inexperienced Chili Taster


The best thing to eat when you’re sitting around an open fire in the great outdoors on a cold, crisp evening.  Visions of the campfire scene (‘More beans, Mr. Taggart?’) in the movie Blazing Saddles comes to mind when I think of chili.  For those of you who have never seen the movie (sad but true), I highly recommend it unless you are one who would be the slightest bit offended by racism, sexual innuendos, gays, cursing and all around funny gags and puns.

In looking through my cookbooks, I came across a paper I had stuck in to one of them with the Tales of an Inexperienced Chili Taster.

This is the hysterical story of Frank, who was visiting Texas from the East Coast:

“Recently, I was honored to be selected as a judge at a chili cook-off.  The original person called in sick at the last moment and I happened to be standing there at the judge’s table asking directions to the beer wagon, when the call came.  I was assured by the other two judges (native Texans) that the chili wouldn’t be all that spicy, and besides, they told me I could have free beer during the tasting, so I accepted.”

(a side note to my readers:  Please do not be eating or drinking while reading this as you will be laughing too hard and I wouldn’t want to be responsible for any mishaps!)

Here are the scorecards from the event:


JUDGE 1: A little too heavy on tomato.  Amusing kick.

JUDGE 2: Nice, smooth tomato flavor.  Very mild.

FRANK: Holy shit, what the hell is this stuff?  You could remove dried paint from your driveway.  Took me two beers to put the flames out.  I hope that’s the worst one.  These Texans are crazy!


JUDGE 1: Smokey, with a hint of pork.  Slight jalapeno tang.

JUDGE 2: Exciting BBQ flavor, needs more peppers to be taken seriously.

FRANK: Keep this out of the reach of children!  I’m not sure what I’m supposed to taste besides pain.  I had to wave off two people who wanted to give me the Heimlich maneuver.  They had to rush in more beer when they saw the look on my face.


JUDGE 1: Excellent firehouse chili!  Great kick.  Needs more beans.

JUDGE 2: A beanless chili, a bit salty, good use of peppers.

FRANK: Call the EPA, I’ve located a uranium spill.  My nose feels like I’ve been snorting drain cleaner.  Everyone knows the routine by now; get me more beer before I ignite.  Barmaid pounded me on the back; now my backbone is in the front part of my chest. I’m getting shit-faced from all the beer.


JUDGE 1: Black, bean chili with almost no spice.  Disappointing.

JUDGE 2: Hint of lime in the black beans. Good side dish for fish or other mild foods, not much of a chili.

FRANK: I felt something scraping across my tongue but was unable to taste it.  Is it possible to burnout taste buds?  Sally, the barmaid, was standing behind me with fresh refills; that 300 lb. bitch is starting to look HOT just like this nuclear waste I’m eating.  Is chili an aphrodisiac?


JUDGE 1: Meaty, strong chili.  Cayenne peppers freshly ground, adding considerable kick.  Very impressive.

JUDGE 2: Chili using shredded beef, could use more tomato.  Must admit the cayenne peppers make a strong statement.

FRANK: My ears are ringing, sweat is pouring off my forehead and I can no longer focus my eyes. I farted and four people behind me need paramedics.  The contestant seemed offended when I told her that her chili had given me brain damage.  Sally saved my tongue from bleeding by pouring beer directly on it from a pitcher. I wonder if I’m burning my lips off?  It really pisses me off that the other judges asked me to stop screaming.


JUDGE 1: Thin yet bold vegetarian variety chili.  good balance of spice and peppers.

JUDGE 2: The best yet.  Aggressive use of peppers, onions and garlic.  Superb.

FRANK:  My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous, sulfuric flames. I shit myself when I farted and I’m worried it will eat through the chair.  No one seems inclined to stand behind me except Sally.  Can’t feel my lips anymore.  I need to wipe my ass with a snow cone.


JUDGE 1: A mediocre chili with too much reliance on canned peppers.

JUDGE 2: Ho hum, tastes as if the chef literally threw in a can of chili peppers at the last moment.  I should take note that I’m worried about Judge #3.  He appears to be in a bit of distress as he is cursing uncontrollably.

FRANK: You could put a grenade in my mouth, pull the pin and I wouldn’t feel a thing.  I’ve lost sight in one eye and the world sounds like it is made of rushing water.  My shirt is covered with chili which slid unnoticed out of my mouth. My pants are full of lava-like shit to match my shirt. At least during the autopsy they’ll know what killed me.  I’ve decided to stop breathing as it’s too painful.  Screw it, I’m not getting any oxygen anyway.  If i need air, I’ll just suck it in through the 4-inch hole in my stomach.


Now, who’s ready for a nice big bowl of chili?