Pizza is like sex. It's always good, unless it burns your mouth and then adds insult to injury by calling you nine months later saying, "Hey, you have to give me money for the next 18 years because we forgot to use a napkin."
You know what I mean.
At any rate, the pizza at Costco isn't what you would call "great." You wouldn't be like, "Hey Grade-School Soccer Team, let's all celebrate today's win with a nice big Costco pizza!" But you would be like, "Hey honey, let's drown our sorrows in pre-packed cheese and concerningly soft dough after we're done buying 1,800 rolls of toilet paper."
It's a product of its time and place. And its place is Costco, its time is whenever you have a minute to pull your overstuffed cart over. It serves this moment in your life near perfectly. And for that, it deserves a second of your recognition. Or at least a casual head nod as you plan your escape from the store.
Oh, and get the plain cheese, as the toppings only dilute this pizza's bargain-basement greatness. Trust me. I ate every hypnotizing inch of it.