To the Editors of The Crimson:

I was horrified to learn that Harvard University may soon close the Linden St. Pinocchio's. Four years ago, when I was but a mere pup, I launched a visceral vendetta against the wurst of Harvard Square's greasy spoons. Yes, I had wretched on cold fries; yes, I had quaffed pizzas; and yes, I had revolted on molted BLTs.

But then in a vision from above, I learned of Pinocchio's. It stood on the horizon, that nectareous nirvana of 'za, and it cloned into Pinocchio's Two. I said, "Nuke Tommy's Lunch; nuke Elsie's; and most of all, nuke the Rendevous. No more swill from our Eliot House grill."

Let the record speak for itself. Before Pinocchio's, I stood only 5'9" and 140 lbs. Now I stand 5'10" and 150 lbs.--well muscled and without zits, I have found Zen.

Please, oh please, Harvard, listen to my pleas. Where other Harvard institutions have fallen--Wellesley women, the Porcellian Club, and expungement--do not force Pinocchio's to follow suit. What Mom's apple pie is to America R.F. D., what Walt Disney is to puerile pubescents, and what cocaine is to the Studio 54 crowd--Pinocchio's pizza is to me. Fair Harvard, can't you grant one last wish to an embittered senior, before he ventures off into that frozen wasteland, that tasteless tundra, of Gino's shake 'n bake pizza.

Hear me, my brethren pizza lovers. Take up your napkins and fight the establishment. Write your congressman; write Jimmy Carter; write Ann Landers; you can even write Kingman Brewster if he'll listen. Chant Attica. Take 'za as your mantra. Strike, strike, strike.

And save the Linden St. Pinocchio's. Norbert Vonnegut '80