pizzagate

Yesterday got pretty interesting after leaving work.

On the way out the door I ran into some guy who looked like a little kid. If he had been wearing a trench coat I would have been convinced 3 toddlers were standing on one another’s shoulders. This guy had an apple cheeked, baby face, with tousled brown hair. I heard him say goodbye to someone and even his voice was soft. The only clue that this guy had (maybe) gone through puberty was his height. He was a bit taller than me and I’m 6’1. 

However, the evening didn’t get really exciting until later that evening. A friend of mine is in town and we went out to dinner. Where did we go? Glad you asked. We decided to dine at Comet Ping Pong otherwise known as the home of the Pizzagate conspiracy.

I’ve written about Pizzagate before so I’m not going to repeat all the sordid details. Instead I will provide a gripping tale of my experience. As soon as we were in the area we sharpened our gaze in an effort to spot evidence of the conspiracy. The front entrance couldn’t be accessed without walking over steel plating. Were these plates covering up the entrance to a tunnel leading to a child filled dungeon? We didn’t find out but I’m not say it didn’t!

The place was packed and we had to wait about 20 minutes for a table. While waiting to be seated I heard some guy talking about a New York Times article about the conspiracy. 

Are you talking about Pizzagate?” I butted in. 

He told me he was, and said he ate at Comet Ping Pong Often. He asked me if I was there as a show of solidarity with the restaurant and its staff. 

I demurred.

Well, actually my friend and I are really just into weird stuff and this is about the weirdest thing going,” I said.

This basically killed the conversation but luckily we were seated shortly later. Our waitress seemed very nice and not-at-all like someone who would abduct children for DNC officials to molest. However, if I had a dollar for everyone I’ve met who seemed normal initially I could built a vault that rivaled Scrooge McDuck’s. During my visit no one was above suspicion even the children (especially the children). 

I ordered a sausage, onion, and spinach pizza that was washed down with a PBR. I took my first sip apprehensively, briefly worried I’d wake up the next day with no memory of the previous 12 hours. The pizza was pretty good but I couldn’t shake the guilt that the produce was possibly harvested with slave labor. Even worse was thinking about the sausage. The possibility that it wasn’t pork at all but the remains of those who crossed Washington elites. 

After dinner we took a photo in front of the building. Instead of saying cheese we let out a cry of ‘pizzagate’ much to the horror of the couple getting out of a taxi. I then spent the next several minutes explaining to them that we weren’t in fact internet trolls, but simply a couple of guys obsessed with nonsense. 

The place seemed pretty normal but there was one strange thing. On one of the walls they were projecting some old cartoon. One scene featured some half-dressed kids being chased through a cave by a monster. I don’t know about you but if my restaurant was supposedly ground zero for a pederasty coven this is exactly the type of stuff I would try and shy away from.

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