My Abusive Relationship With Pizza Rolls

I'd like to acknowledge my recently leaked 911 audio. Roll the clip..

911: Is this an emergency?
MTD: *gasping for air* I've been violently attacked. 
911: Is the attacker still there?
MTD: Yes, there's six or seven of them left. Maybe 30 or so in the freezer. 
911: *inaudible* It's him again, Sir, please stop calling us because you don't understand the "let the pizza rolls cool" part of the cooking directions on the box. Totino is not "engaging in mouthal warfare." 

After some station sanctioned therapy, I have had some revelations about my abusive relationship with Totino's Pizza Rolls. I'm at fault too, it's been a two way street.

At first, you were perfect. In 1985, when you took the Totino's name, you were the A+ after school snack. Let's say I was in second grade at the time and not a 6th year senior at the Georgia Southern Institute of Pesticides and Food Journalism. Go GSIPFJ Gophers! But over the years, I began to find you less hot. Fewer hot? GSIPFJ word classes never explained the difference. Either way, that's on me.

I strayed. I snacked around on you. I'm not proud but I had everything. Bagel Bites, taquitos, jalapeno poppers, Hot Pockets, everything TGI Fridays put in the freezer section and even a Fridays waitress. I was young and promiscuous. None of them fulfilled me like you. 

Then the home fryer came along. Game changer. I could make my own potato skins! Then I remembered you, Pizza Rolls. You had a nice new shiny sheen to you. Did you get highlights, Pizza Rolls? You were sexy again. Perhaps, too much so. You constantly burned me and my friends. You got around quite a bit back then. I was okay with it until I needed skin grafts for the roof of my mouth. I couldn't help myself around you, bursting at the crunchy crust seams with just a hint of that cheese underneath. Pizza Rolls, you tease.

My fleet of doctors restoring my mouth told me my cholesterol of 2000 was medically impossible. We took a break. We wanted different things. I failed at selling knives door-to-door, you stuffed yourself with weird meats. And I got healthy. I started mixing lettuce into my bacon and ranch soup. 

Then the airfryer becomes an American darling and you popup in my LinkedIn cart. Perhaps you thought we could have a professional relationship now that I'm a highly respected Snacktion News anchor. We hung out. I was dressed in formal attire and you in an appropriately labeled box. It didn't last. My tuxedo was a tearaway and you were wearing white bag lingerie under all that cardboard. The dance began. Off to the airfryer.

I didn't know at first how long it would take to make you hot. We got creative. I poured Tabasco on you. Sour cream. Chives. It was out of control. Which brings me back to the third and final call to 911 I made that night. Was that my rock bottom? It's hard to say as I finished the rest of those Pizza Rolls after 911 hung up on me. I ate a few of the frozen ones too. 

What have I learned, you ask? Well, for starters, 911 has blocked me but I didn't need that car stolen from in front of my house. All I need is an airfryer and Totinos Pizza Rolls. Nothing. I've learned nothing. That should satisfy my therapy requirements. 

After the break, we'll be back with the $22K cheese heist in the Netherlands.