OK, I’ve had enough.
Normally, my patience threshold is set rather high [currently set to ‘rhinocerous tranquiliser’].
But this is IT.
In a fit of desperation, motivated mainly by hunger [and, to a lesser extent, dialectical issues], I found myself purchasing a cheese salad sandwich last night. Don’t ask why, it’s not worth it.
After many a moment plotting an intricate strategem to navigate said sandwich to my mouth, I muttered a quick prayer [to Lacta, goddess of cheese] and gave it the good ol’ college try.
Remind me never to go back to that college.
How can someone construct a sandwich so poorly, that the main components [cheese and salad] actually inhibit the gorging process? The act of removing one sandwich dislodged the top half of the second sandwich, causing a veritable smorgasboard of cheese salad onto my lap. Streuth.
So THAT’S IT. I’m hereby boycotting all cheese salad sandwiches and all subsiduary paraphanelia, and I want all of you with a shred of moral fibre to do the same.
This cold-blooded attack on sartorial innocence has being going on for TOO LONG.
(Oh, and they’re probably not very good for you either.)