Houston between A and B. If this special kind of jagoff hit the nearest Sbarro (34th & 5th), then he traveled between 2.5 and 3 miles before deciding not to walk several more feet to a trashcan. To his defense, 1) he licked the cheese off first, and 2) Sbarro isn't pizza.
Then again, you could just EAT THE SLICE OF PIZZA, because that’s what people are supposed to do when they buy pizza slices. You can make all the excuses you want for engaging in your insultingly irrational purchasing behavior, but they’re all bunk. That’s right, bunk:
“I thought I was hungry.” What does that even mean? You either have an aching void in your stomach or you don’t. It’s like an erection. When you have an erection, you don’t think you’re horny, you are horny. Of course sometimes you lose the erection due to lack of confidence, or drinking too much. But you do not lose hunger for pizza due to lack of confidence or drinking too much. If you did, New York City would only sell four slices per year.
“I thought I was hungrier.” So you bought two slices, but could only handle one. How many times are you going to do this before you accept that you are not a member of the Big Boy Club?
“I was already full.” If you were actually full, what the hell did you buy pizza for? Because eating a late-night slice even though you already had dinner earlier is a habit you’ve listlessly continued to indulge in for years, and tonight you finally decided to acknowledge that you’re so depressed, you no longer enjoy it? That is pure horse manure. That level of depression doesn’t even exist. Your body actually fades into pure nothingness and all memory of your existence is wiped from the minds of everyone you've ever known before your mental wellbeing can plummet to a state where a pizza nightcap no longer tickles your dopamine center. Ask a scientist. Really, any scientist you know will tell you this is true.
“I thought I would like it.” Come on dude. It’s pizza. The only way you haven’t had pizza before is if you’re Starman, from the surprisingly touching John Carpenter movie where Jeff Bridges is an alien whose UFO gets shot down by the army, so he mimics the body of Karen Allen’s dead husband to try and fit in but he doesn’t fit in at all because he exhibits a conspicuously un-hyperactive child’s curiosity about things we take for granted, like television, and Karen Allen’s vagina. Listen up, buddy: there was only one Starman, and because his body could only survive Earth’s atmosphere for three days, he had to hustle back to his home planet, Starmangia, or else he’d die. No one else from Starmangia ever came down here, because of the atmosphere thing, and because our government treated Starman like a dick. He did impregnate Karen Allen, but unless you have the most beautiful brown eyes the world has ever seen and the power to reanimate dead deer in roadside diner parking lots, you are not the son of Starman and Karen Allen. Ergo you have eaten pizza before, and already know whether or not you like it.