It is simple. I’ve discovered exactly why Canadian actress Evangeline Lilly is the most attractive (living) actress. It is because I know for a fact that if I was a cannibal, and I cut her into pieces, she would taste better than any other living thing. This prevailing truth came to me just after some lemon-lime Gatorade dodged my mouth in favor of testing my coat’s resistance to liquids.

During the feast, I would eat her thighs like corncobs. I would initiate a bone marrow transplant: her marrow for my saliva. I wouldn’t clip her toenails; my joy would, just before I readied a hot griddle with several diced garlic cloves. She would be the most delicious meal a person that ate people could request. I would salt to taste. I’d save some of her insides to be ground up later and sprinkled on au gratin potatoes. And I’d leave the eyes in. This would be something I think she’d like to witness.

For dessert, the previously mentioned au gratin dish. It’ll match well with the “Evy”-tinged coffee, which has a sweet enough natural flavor of its own.

After finishing the meal, I would break her legs at the knee to determine if I would have good luck later in the day. If my right hand held the larger portion of leg, I would celebrate with a brief game of kneecap toss.

Hours later, after I came inside from my cement playground, this last thought simmered for awhile and then left slowly.

In turning over all these thoughts in my head since then (yes, like a spit), I’ve come to realize something possibly even greater than admitted above. Sometimes truth comes all wrapped up in a wrapper of more truth. This hizz has been revizzed!

Sometimes out on the porch an idea will pop into my head even before I sit down. Something like, “I’m going to have disgusting breath today, and there isn’t a thing anyone can do about it.” I could go on about that one or numerous others, but out of respect for the many people that have e-mailed in nice thoughts regarding the last edition of this column, I thought I would share today’s porch revelation.

You’d think that the writing of a recurring column would be the basis for several trends to occur, but trends can suck an egg. For my forays into revisioning history, the goal is singular. We are gonna blow the lid off the proverbial filth jar of Americana. No, not the genre of music that folk artists that write anti-war songs flock to. I’m talking about the real true America. The America that foreigners capture with their Kodak advanced photo system cameras.

So it is with regret that I bring forth this edition of Revisionist History, whereby my goal was not even considered. Instead, a story of one brick oven, and pizza it produced. And some other b.s.

Pequod’s caught fire last year and burnt itself all up. It was a really sad day in Chicago, because this pizza is bar none delicious. The delivery drivers love to mention the fire when they drop off your hot pie, no doubt to gain the sympathy tip. What are you going to do? You’ve got to give the guy another dollar. If you don’t he’ll probably claim to be related to Richard Pryor, and then you’re doubly you know what.

Regardless of that, the pizza is delicious and worth more than its weight in accident-prone dead comedians. “Don’t revizz that hizz!” I exclaimed within my heart when I tasted it for the 3rd time at last month’s Bears game. It’s like my ears were holding a stethoscope up to my heart when my heart shouted it out, because it was really loud and kind of echoey. Nothing came out of my mouth, though, because half an hour earlier I’d felt the urge to kill, and it left a bad taste.

It’s a shame that I didn’t enjoy the pizza. It tasted like oyster crackers to me. It wasn’t the pizza’s fault, though. It was my fault, because even before the pizza arrived I’d gotten myself involved in the plot of the lamest film to ever not appear onscreen.

All because I didn’t answer my phone when I should have the following took place:

• Woke up 4 hours late
• Missed the first half of a rousing Bears game
• Couldn’t drink during the game
• Had to borrow $10 from Posh
• Wife made her friend drive her down to the general vicinity of where I was
• Missed the presentation of a delightful meat and cheese tray
• Jeopardized my marriage
• Completed a transaction
• Reached compromise for wife to sit in car for remainder of Bears game
• Guilt turned best pizza ever into something like soup crackers

And it’s that last item that really gets me. I mean, you’d think on an empty stomach that it’d be like this pizza was a great new invention that I could exploit for personal gain with every bite. But it simply wasn’t to be. I hadn’t said anything until now because I didn’t want Sheps to know that I thought that pizza tasted like crackers. But there comes a time when you realize that you have a place to post such things on a website on the internet, like a byte diary, and when that times comes you ride that bus as far as it goes.