As you know, my name is Marco "Marky" Borelli. I make top notch pizza and I have a top notch team behind me: Anna, my sister. Elise, my sister, and Mark, my dad. Also there's some woman named Katie who came in the restaurant wasted as fuck and probably on meth who claims she works here but keeps asking for a James Cicenia for some reason. Here is a true story: Yesterday a big Indian family came in the restaurant and asked for Tai Chi lessons. I don't know what the fuck Tai Chi is, but I decided to serve them. These are their names: Nihal, the dad, Manisha, the daughter, and Ravi, the wife. They were happy to be let in by a white kid, so I decided to make them our specialty, which can be seen on our menu. Nihal asked us nicely if we had a phone so they could call Uncle Dharmesh. I said hell no nigger! And almost kicked them out of the store, but Katie stopped me and showed me her tits (she wears the same shirt everyday) and while I was focused on her tits, I heard a loud "ALLAH AKBAR!" and heard a boom. I looked around me, and all I saw was a large Indian man. He called himself Megatron. His muscles looked succulent and asked me if I played CS:GO. I said no, but a small anorexic kid came in and said he had a AWP Asiimov, whatever the fuck that is. I kicked the little nigger out of the store. But back to the action! The Indians surrounded me. Nihal came up and said "your pizza is shit." I said that he looked like shit. What happened after that is unclear, but I remember blacking out and waking up to Katie's tits next to me. She asked where's Jamie? I said up my ass. She attempted reaching up my ass but I escaped. I miss those Indians, but at least I knew I had a happy customer for life.