Sandwiches
I’ve been thinking, thinking about how the Sandwich is the working man’s meal and it’s been bastardized in recent times. For decades, making the Sandwich has been the masturbation of meal making. Something you could do yourself but is better when someone else lends a hand. I believe that in recent times we’ve gotten a bit greedy or spoiled, too much of a good thing is not great. We’ve forgotten about doing the deed by one’s self, the task at hand has gotten out of hand. The transferring of the task of sandwich making from one’s self to someone else has lead to a change in power and a paradigm shift. It’s not about what the working man wants anymore, used to be about making a sandwich and finishing then going back to work. For crying out loud, the working man can’t even get a say in how he wants his sandwich anymore. You wanted Italian but they ran out of Italian, pastrami and Cuban we’re left on the menu. For Pete sakes, the Italians and pastramis shared a Holocaust together but the darn Cuban gets to stay as if Lyndon B. Johnson made the rules in ’66!? The other day I asked my wife if she was done making the sandwich and she said “it’ll be done when I say it’s done”, I couldn’t tell if she was still making me a sandwich or giving me a handjob anymore. For the record, her sandwiches we’re always terrible. Soulless, Slow, and dry. On the other hand, her mother could make a sandwich lickety-split and she doesn’t use Miracle Whip! I wouldn’t even give Miracle Whip to the terrorist in Guantanamo Bay to use for lube, that’d be a sign of weakness like a weak handshake.