It's a fruity acidic piece of ♥♥♥♥ topping that doesn't deserve to be on pizza, let alone exist within less than dozen feet of one.

When cooked, it releases a gush of abhorrent fluids which seep across the glorious melted cheese, spreading its horrific stench and bile-inducing flavor throughout the otherwise fantastic culinary creation. If the cheese doesn’t manage to shield the fragile and porous crust from the heinous invasion, the overbearing fruit taste soaks into the bread and makes it taste like a disgruntled employee took a piss in the dough. The acidity rams its throbbing tastebud-destroying erection into the previously orgasmic sauce, cancelling out the carefully added oregano, spices, and centuries of time-honored tradition.

I’ve eaten pizza for all twenty-two of my years of life on this pizza-blessed planet and it hurts me that you would take the Italian’s refined traditional cuisines and cluster♥♥♥♥ it with a bunch of fruity ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ nonsense. If you put pineapple on pizza, I don't respect you as a person. I hope you eat that mistake over the graves of your recently deceased family and friends who, once learning of your repulsive fetish, commit suicide in a vain attempt to distance themselves from you.