Sandwich Love

Hello all. Life seems to be fairly good right now. I am enjoying the hot weather, even though my back-sweat has increased to such an am out that Grey T-shirts simply cannot be worn in public. I am not one to complain however, as I am a fan of the hot, as opposed to the cold. Exposing ones genitalia in the winter is often not a good idea, whereas in the summer, the unit is soft and loose like honey in a ziplock bag, making it perfect for wrangling, and shaking. I love summer-penis.

I am not exactly sure why I mentioned that last bit of information, as it is not really prudent to today's topic of blogcussion. Today's blog rather is all about sandwiches (with a brief introduction about "summer-penis"). Moreover, I want to discuss sandwiches in terms of functionality, and also in terms of sexual attraction, which are two areas that immediately come to mind when I think of sandwiches, and sandwich related matters.

First off, functionality; in my opinion no food is better suited for today's multi-onthego-superfaceted-facepaced-ubersociety.

For example; you are talking on your wireless blackberry, while playing table tennis, and the hunger bug strikes you like a deranged panther. Fear not, for you have a perfectly constructed food grenade to throw at your stomach. Place one hand on your weapon, feel alive as the mix of cheese, bread, formally-alive animals (neatly sliced), and various other, slides down your esophagus. Booyaka, sir, you just signed a deal for 78 billion dollars, won serve, and gave your hunger "what for", thanks directly to the sandwich.

It is also your friend when dancing. Try doing the salsa, or a dynamic booty-dance while eating a plate of pasta. Nice try you stupid asshole, you now have marinara sauce on your short-shorts, women are laughing at you, and you will soon shed tears. Do not lament, fool; get a sandwich and drop your rear end to the floor, like it is hot. You have a free hand for fist pumping, or giving/receiving "dap", which will no doubt occur, since you are dominating the dance floor, and your sandwich is dominating your hunger.

Once, in 1997, I was directly responsible for a man's face peeling off his skull. I did not know this man, nor did I know his wife, who came up to me with violent intentions after "the incident". I told her, "Look Ruth (she looked like a Ruth at the time, although I did not know her name), your husband is clearly a piece of stupid. What kind of used-Q-tip of a man, decides to indulge in a piping hot soup, while riding the bumper-cars? Yes I rammed his car head on, projecting the soup violently upon his innocent face, shattering his life in the process. But I did it with one hand...Casually. You see my face, Ruth? (I pointed to my face), You see this Sandwich? (I pointed to the sandwich) This is the type of food you are supposed to eat on a novelty ride. My face is as sexy, and satisfied as ever, because I had the foresight to put animals and cheese between to velvety pieces of Wonder. You husbands face is melted, because he is an amateur. Tomato soup is best suited for the paddle boats (I pointed to the paddle boats). Keep crying Ruth, but it will not bring your husbands face back.... If you would like Ruth, while your husband spends the next 18 months in the burn ward, I will periodically come to your house, and allow you to construct me a sandwich of meats, while a rub my erect penis on your drapes, and verbally berate you. That is my best offer."

I could not determine whether or not Ruth had accepted my offer, for she was sobbing like a sob-monster. So I wrote my phone number on the wax-paper that I used to wrap my sandwich in (to maximize freshness). She has yet to call.

Fellows and Fem-fellows, I must apologize. I do not have time at the moment to tell of my magical story of Professor Crabottom, the man from my small town, who in 1981 married a sandwich, much to the chagrin of the locals. This story is one of lore, and fancyfreeness, and I will no doubt tell you all about it, quite soon!

However, I must now escape North for the weekend. Yes, Wagons North! The North is where I will smoke much Hashish, and (hopefully) give a Black Bear a sensual hand-job! I am excited as ever for this opportunity, however I am saddened by the fact the I will not be able to get to my fair readers for a few days.

Regardless, I want everyone to enjoy their wee-kends, and ensure to check back on Sunday, for a sexy update regarding sandwich nuptials, and the like!!!

Cheers to all,

Mr. Bacon Wagon