Review: Domino’s Pasta Primavera – Primo or Prim-no?
Summary: You know, I’m eating these things every day. It’s pasta. It’s wet. It’s fine to eat. But… it seems to be upsetting my digestive system in some way.
Some people forget to eat. They’ll say they were so busy, so caught up in work, that they forgot to eat, ha ha. Not me. I forget that I eat. I don’t know why. It is a painful process, but I’ve developed habits to deal with it. But I think it’s killing me. Today I’m reviewing Domino’s Pasta.
I’ve been eating Domino’s Pasta for a few months now. I talked to the manager on the phone and explained my bulk purchases and we worked out a 60-day renewal plan. I asked them to deliver Domino’s Pasta to my front door every day at 10:00 am, 5:00pm, and 9:45pm, and paid for about 300 meals upfront. They asked me what type of Domino’s Pasta I wanted. I said, “Buddy, that’s your problem. Just keep ’em coming.”
Meal Context Score: 8 out of 10
Taste Score: 2 out of 10
Getting ready to dig in!
Look, I’m not even quite sure how the plastic bags of wet Domino’s Pasta tins even end up in my garbage bin every week, but there they are. I must have incorporated picking up the delivery bags into my morning chores somewhere. I’ll be out in the garden and hear a honk, see some familiar-looking delivery guy waving, “See you tomorrow, pal!” And I don’t immediately understand who this person is, but then moments later I’ll be remembering long, endearing conversations we’ve shared. This delivery guy Paul’s life and struggles abruptly come to me as I’m inhaling handfuls of my day’s first Domino’s Pasta, and I weep.
The pasta itself, I believe, is gray. A very bright and monochromatic gray. It looks like a human brain in a vat in some cheesy black & white 1950s sci-fi movie. It looks like something that maybe also feels, maybe also weeps, maybe something I shouldn’t eat. Or maybe I just dreamt that it looks this way. It’s probably something I only did see in an old sci-fi flick. It’s possible I’ve never even seen the pasta, actually. I often feed myself without ever glancing at my meal, people inform me.
Look Score: 4 out of 10
I haven’t had a bowel movement in months. Or possibly, I’ve had one enduring bowel movement. Either way, the Domino’s Pasta is somehow being absorbed into my body, or else my body into it. I keep dreaming that my fingers are penne. I suppose I’m not hungry most of the time, but I swear the toilet bowl is collecting dust. This whole house is dusty, in fact. I’m noticing cobwebs on the bookshelf and around the corners of the TV. I look down, and somehow yet again I am surrounded by empty pasta tins.