Grandma Piledhigh

I had a great pizza today from Pizza Hut. That's news, because the ones I've had lately have all had something wrong with them, in my opinion. Usually the problem is the crust isn't completely done. It's not browned, it's as soft as my Grandma's upper arm always was.

Today I felt it and at first I thought it was more like her forearm, which wasn't quite as tender as the flabby back stuff on the upper arm. Then I noticed it had much more firmness, like the bellies of some of those volleyball playing girls you see in the Olympics. They're no one's Grandma, yet.

There's a slogan that one of the pizza makers has, "Pizza pie piled high."

So I said, "This is just like my Grandma Piledhigh used to make it," since I have a grandma for every occasion. And nothing says quality pizza in my mind than the phrase "piled high."

Grandma Piledhigh liked to stack things up, as far as they'd go. She loved Jenga, let's assume. And she liked to go to Denver, since it's called the Pilehigh City.