TORGO'S PIZZA PALACE Episode #1: LARGE SAUSAGE?
by Nathan Phillips (known to some as Torgo)

All he wanted was a pizza, but the only thing Dave received was the most terrifying night of his life.

It was 9:00 on Halloween night. By now, the army of trick-or-treaters had ended their activity and gone home for the night. Unfortunately, they didn't leave without making it a point to take all of his beloved candy.

Dave was hungry.

He wanted a pizza. He picked up his phone book and located the only place in town that delivered. It was a small, individual restaurant known as Torgo's Pizza Palace. Nobody really knew where it had come from or why it was there, but it had been there for so long that the citizens always assumed someone else knew why it was there and they were too polite to say anything. Sure, the pizza tasted a little strange, but Dave was so hungry he could have consumed an entire McDonald's hamburger without vomiting afterward and becoming quite dizzy for several hours.

Outside of Dave's small house, his bloodhound Rover began to bark loudly. Someone knocked on the door. Dave angrily mumbled as he walked down the hall. "Oh, [expletive]. Probably those [expletive] trick-or-treaters wanting some of their [expletive] candy again. [Expletive]."

When he opened the door, however, he was surprised to see that the person knocking was not a child at all. It was a dark-skinned man with what appeared to be burn marks and scars on his face. The man did not seem to have any knees. In their place, it looked as if his legs were filled with fluid. He wore a "TORGO" T-shirt.

"L-l-l-arge s-s-s-aus-a-a-ge?"

"What?" Dave replied. "You must have the wrong house. I was planning to order a large sausage pizza, but I haven't yet. What a coincidence."

Torgo laughed. "a-HA! HA! HEE! EE! EE!" His laughing sounded like a suffocating cat. "It is quite a co-o-o-o-o-inci-i-i-dence. I am s-s-s-orry. I got the w-w-w-rong hou-u-u-se! a-HA! HA! EE! EE! EE! EE! EE!"
Dave smiled nervously.

"By the wa-a-a-a-y," Torgo continued, "that is a nice dog you have."

"Oh, yeah," Dave replied. "That's my bloodhound, Rover."

"Y-y-y-es. A very n-n-n-ice do-o-g." Torgo turned to Dave. "I am very sorry if-if-if I was an in-n-n-convenience. G-g-g-ood ni-i-i-ght, s-s-ir."

"Good night." Dave closed the door. Despite that unpleasent experience, he still wanted his pizza, and he was going to get it! He immediately walked to the phone in order to try to get a different delivery man.

Dave picked up the reciever and dialed the number, which was 555-8364. To his shock, it was answered by the same man.

"H-h-h-ello?"

"Hey! That's odd! Weren't you just at my door?" Dave inquired.

"Oh, y-y-yes. Y-Y-ou're the m-m-man with the d-d-dog. Are y-y-ou calling to p-p-p-lace an order?"

"Yes, um . . . I'd like a large sausage pizza and a Mr. Pibb."

"Tha-a-a-t can be arranged, my f-f-friend. I will bring it to you right now."

"But aren't you in your car"

"Yes, but I ju-u-ust made a n-n-new pizza a m-m-moment ago."

"Oh. Whatever," Dave replied. He then opened the door to see Torgo staggering up the driveway.

"I h-h-h-ave y-y-your pizza-a-a. It's h-h-hot and f-f-f-f-resh!" Torgo walked up to the front door and handed Dave the pizza. "T-th-that will-l-l-l be five d-d-dollars, please."

Dave handed him the money quickly, hoping to get Torgo out of the house as soon as possible. There was something unsettling about the guy's appearance and voice (and knees).

Unfortunately, Torgo asked that fateful question: "C-c-can I use the b-a-a-a-a-throom?"

"Uh . . . sure, I guess."

"Th-th-thank you. Enjoy your p-i-i-i-i-zza."

"I will, I will."

As soon as Torgo entered the bathroom, Dave took out a slice of the pizza and bit into it. It tasted even worse than it had the last time he tried it. The cheese was a disturbing dark orange color, with a green tint closer to the center of the pizza. Even worse was the sausage, which was gooey yet terribly hard to bite into, almost rubbery. And the sauce -- It tasted like it had been lifted off the streets of Los Angeles after lying there for two weeks, constantly being stepped on and driven over. Extremely thick, it had a bizarre, gelatin-like form to it which made it indreasingly difficult to chew. Even the crust was bad, with the other contents seeping into the thin layer of bread, soaking it as well as Dave's hands with that awful "tomato" sauce.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Dave cried. "Where's Rover?"

The toilet flushed, and Torgo stepped out of the bathroom. "Aah! Th-th-a-a-a-t's better!"

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY DOG, YOU FREAK?"

"Oh, y-y-es. The bloodhound. A very nice dog. Very nice, indeed. a-HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!"

"My God! Are you implying that you killed poor Rover and put him in the pizza?"

"Oh, d-d-don't worry. I ha-a-a-ave a feeling that your dog is aro-o-o-und h-e-e-ere s-s-s-somewhere! a-HA! a-HA! A-a-a-a-fter all, don't you think that there's a l-l-l-little ‘Rover' in all of us? a-HA! HA! HA!"

"You can't do this, you maniac! I'll sue you for everything you've--AAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

* * *

Three hours later, Torgo sat in his car waiting to make his next delivery. The phone rang.

"H-h-hello?"

"Um, yes, I'd like a large sausage pizza, please?"

"Yes, ma'am. I h-h-have a l-a-a-a-a-rge sausage p-i-i-i-i-i-zza with your name on it! a-HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HEE! EE! EE! EE! EE! EE! EE! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!"

"Um . . . thank you," replied the puzzled voice on the other end of the line. "Goodbye."

* * *

It was a pleasure to cook.

Cooking had always been a hobby of Torgo's, ever since his days working for The Master all those years ago. Now, he was free. And he was living out his dream: Opening a pizza parlor of his own, with no outside help from anyone. He cooked, served, and by night delivered the pizzas himself. After all, no one else could guarantee that distinct Torgo taste, brought on by the secret ingredients.

He especially loved creating his Very Special Sausage Pizza. It required a certain level of compassionate dedication... great care had to be taken in choosing his next victim. Each night, he would walk through the residential areas of Sonnenfeld, searching for the perfect selection. This particular night had been especially successful. Not only did Torgo net a little dog named Rover, but he also got a fully-grown human!

As he drove back to his restaurant, Torgo found himself laughing, for no reason whatsoever. He loved his job -- he loved his life.

THE END... for now!

Torgo was created by the late Harold P. Warren in 1966.

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