OK, everybody listen the f*ck up right now. I want your full goddamn attention on me, the big guy, the number one man in this dump: the Papa. Here's what I want you pack of retards to tell me: could you all get any f*cking stupider? I'm sick of all the bullsh*t floating around in this company, you hear me? The gloves are coming off (points to self with two thumbs) and this motherf*cker is gonna be throwing the punches.
I've been in the Za biz a long time a long motherf*cking time and I can see when sh*t is about to hit the fan. Our first quarter earnings are a disgrace. Are you telling me that Domino's is moving twice the pie we are? TWICE THE MOTHERF*CKING PIE?! What the f*ck am I paying all you dirtbags for? Huh? Oh, don't apologize to me, you pack of weak-kneed faggots; apologize to my wife, who's catching a beatin' when I get home tonight.
I'm going to devote this quarter to two things: salvaging what's left of this sh*t company and busting skulls. Toppings? F*ck. Yes. I'm rolling out so many new goddamn toppings you're going to sh*t your f*cking pants. Lima beans! Yeah, I f*cking said it. Oh, what's that, Sally? You don't think Lima Beans are a good topping for our pizza? Well guess what, cunt? This is Papa JOHN'S motherfucking pizza, not F*ckface Sally's. It's your brand of ass-backwards thinking that ground Little Caesar's to a halt and I will NOT be Little Caesar's. You know what? You know what? Get the fuck out, Sally. Get out of my board room,you hag-faced toad. You disgust me.
I started this company with one idea: total fucking pizza domination. Yet when I drive around this city what do I see? Domino's. Pizza Hut. Why am I still seeing those dinosaurs on MY FUCKING STREETS?! Let me tell you this right now: if I ever, ever see any of you faggots eating Za at one of those dumps, you're done here. And if you try that "doing research" bullshit, my fist will be doing research on your throat.
Oh, and I want to know which member of this Tard Parade decided to give out as many free dippin' sauces as the customer wants. Huh? Who was it? I see, I see, all of a sudden none of you know anything, right? Well, let me tell you this: I spent weeks in my kitchen perfecting our garlic dippin' sauce and I didn't spend all that time for you cunts to give it away for free. Our fat slob customers have no problem buying a large pie and a cheesy bread, why would their lardy faces give a shit about an extra 50 cents for another cup of delicious garlic dippin' sauce?
One last thing, and all you homos better listen up: we're gonna be putting another cut in the Za from now on. That way we get two more slices out of each pie. That's called "genius," motherfuckers. Am I the only one that fucking has any? I think so. I bet Harold over here doesn't even know how many cuts we put in each pie now. Harold? What's that? Speak up, fat ass, I can't hear you over the sound of your body digesting the whole cow you ate for lunch. Six. He says six. You see, this is the kind of bullshit I'm talking about. Harold here doesn't even know how many slices a steaming hot PPJ's Za has in it. It doesn't matter that he's our accountant, either everyone should know that shit. Harold, get the fuck out. I never want to see your greasy face in my board room ever again.
What's our motto, faggots? That's right, "Better ingredients, better pizza." There's a reason I made all of you shitheads get that tattooed on your arms: so you'd never forget that PPJ's cares about quality more than anything else. And when I look out over this room of bloated, incompetent losers earning fat paychecks for piss work, you know what I think? I think I should have spent as much time picking the ingredients in my company as I did picking the ingredients in my Za. If I don't see some fucking changes around here soon, each and every one of you is getting the axe. I loathe you all.