Papa John, You’ve Denied Me As Your Son. Now Take a DNA Test & Prove Me Wrong!

This could have been you. But no, I had to learn how to cut my first slice from a complete stranger.

Everyone has a favorite pizza topping. Mine’s fatherhood. And since Papa John continues to deny me as his son—I’m guessing his is probably some bullshit topping like onion.

Sure, your pizza is fine or whatever. But you’ve been a terrible father, assuming that you’re even my real father. You never came and cheered for me at one of my ballgames. You didn’t even see me graduate from college. The birth of my first kid, and possibly your first grandchild??? Nope, Pizza Hut was there rooting my wife on until she was fully dilated. Would it have killed you to have someone drive by in an unmarked van on my birthday, and instruct them to throw garlic dipping sauce cups at me? I mean you of all people definitely have the kind of manpower and resources to pull off a classic birthday surprise like that.

It’s time to man up, Papa. Take the test and prove once and for all that you’re not my father. Then I’ll stop sending you thoughtfully curated articles about why Papa John’s is the best and the other kinds of pizza just aren’t quite as good.

Anyone can put a pizza in an oven, but it takes a real man to pull that pizza out and raise it as his own.

Your Son Until Proven Otherwise,

Eric