Why? Because my sandwich is massive. It is enormous. It is godlike. My sandwich towers over other sandwiches. If it had legs, it would kick sand in the face of the other ninety-gram weaklings.
My sandwich is the British Empire of sandwiches. The sun will never set on this sandwich. If I were having vegetable soup as well, the sandwich would colonize it, installing a pro-sandwich government and enslaving the soggy carrots.
It is an alpha sandwich. It is voluptuous. The slices of smoked chicken spill over the sides like Angelina Jolie in a B cup.
Noah could carve the ark out of the pickles and sail endlessly on the vast seas of mayonnaise, carrying two of every bean sprout.
My sandwich has its own postal code. It has a standing army. It has a seat on the UN. It may not have weapons of mass destruction, but it does have provolone of mass deliciousness.
I fear this sandwich. I fear what it could do to my precious shirt. I want to wear this shirt out later.
Now I feel oddly vulnerable, half-naked, in the presence of such an imposing sandwich. I can feel its eyes on me, leering. It knows what it wants. It knows how to get it.
I have crossed the line. I have tampered with ingredients that human beings were not meant to tamper with. Like the doomed Dr. Frankenstein, I have given life to a monster, albeit one made with tangy italian dressing instead of rotting flesh.
But I will not back down. This sandwich is not going to get the better of me. I shall prevail, God willing. Have at thee, sandwich!
Good news! Trader Joe’s carrys muffuletta salad, so I don’t have to make it myself. (And the nearby Italian market doesn’t hurt for the rest of the ingredients. )
Wow! I make an olive dip that has almost the same ingredients (plus sundried tomatoes) and the rest of the sandwich is pretty much what I consider to be the basis of a decent sub anyway.
I’ve put some odd combinations into sammiches, but it never occurred to me to use my olive dip as a condiment! Lunch tomorrow is gonna be awesome.
It would sound a lot better with a description other than it’s size (i.e. what’s in it, did you make it yourself or buy it, if bought, where from, if not, can you make me one?)
On reading the thread title, I assumed that the OP was in Louisiana having his first po-boy experience, after my first time, I needed a hose to clean up me and my truck (I ate on the tailgate), but now I MUST stop there if at all possible (a gas station in Bayou Vista, I think it’s a Chevron, it’s on 90).
The first sentence reminds me of a remark my friend Sean made a couple weeks ago when we were all out to eat after Fellowship…
No, we certainly don’t… especially if he was using a very feminine voice to ask us that question! (he was also pretending to be gay… I’m sure his girlfriend was very impressed… NOT!)
The second sentence? I’m sure Spoz will be very happy to hear that… now, what sort of sandwich was that again?
Seriously though, it sounds like quite the sandwich.
)