When I think shit food, I think Italian. Not because it’s bad. Oh, fuck no. I mean shit food in the way that every single dish is out to clog your arteries and make you die of an infarction while you’re masturbating awkwardly in a changing booth at the Fashion Bug. I mean, what’s not to love about a cuisine where even the vegetarian dishes can turn a white tablecloth orange if accidentally spilled? Oh, right. The rip-offs. The “authentic” stuff out there that lures you in with your trust of all things Italiariffic, only to leave you searching for the nearest 7-11 that sells both Imodium and Depends. That being said, it’s time to take on one of the worst offenders: Subway.

I love a good sandwich. A lot. If I had my choice between the perfect sandwich and the perfect handjob, I’d take the sandwich. I’m not saying I don’t like handjobs. Quite the contrary. I’m just saying I really fucking love sandwiches. And Subway is to sandwiches what Captain Hook is to handjobs, preparing greasy luges of bread set to rocket out of your colon like a doomed Georgian athlete.

So, after my daily trip to the liquor store, I stopped by the local Subway for a foot long of blasphemy. There were two choices on the menu with “Italian” in their name, the Italian B.M.T. and the Spicy Italian. I settled on the Spicy Italian after deciding that I simply couldn’t eat anything with the initials B.M. anywhere in its naming scheme. Considering the gustatory dynamite that would comprise this big bastard, I selected the parmesan oregano bread, hoping the cheese would create a gluing effect in my lower GI tract, thus countering the natural laxative effect of cheap cold cuts. And do I want it toasted? Why not? I was.

Here’s what Subway says a Spicy Italian should look like.

Look at that thing. I kind of want to marry it and move to a country where it’s legal to eat your wife.

Here’s what it really looks like.

Yeah, that’s the Russian Bride effect. Looks great on the internet, but when it shows up, it’s ugly, mean, and probably will wake you up by putting cigarettes out on your arm.

Fortunately, I know it's what's inside that counts, right?

Shit. That piece of bread looks like it could try out for Jersey Shore 2. Better dig deeper.


Ok, well that's not so bad looking I guess, even though it resembles the Jolly Green Giant's first dump of the day.


Much to my surprise, it handles well. Not much topping leakage or bread crumble. These are the first favorable traits I've noticed.

But then I tried it. It tastes, well, cheap. Like licking Lindsay Lohan, only slightly less greasy. The salami and pepperoni are the exact opposite of what they should be in a quality sandwich. Most likely, I don't want to know what's in them as they probably contain at least half the periodic table. I don't even want to speculate on the half-life of Subway salami. The olives, which I normally love, were oppressively briney, dominating the flavor profile. As for the tomatoes, well, they were red. If they had a flavor they might have been nice. Same goes for the lettuce. Ugh, iceberg. Unless it's sinking the Titanic and killing Leonardo DiCaprio, I'm not interested.

So is the king of cheap sandwiches worth it? No, not at all when you consider the quality of what you're getting for your money. Why not spend an extra buck or two and visit a local establishment instead? Not only will you support your local economy, but you'll get a much better product for the money you spend. Don't settle for less when more is everywhere.



3/10 flushes


SnakePlissken eagerly awaits being sued by Lindsay.