thelastboss

Here's an ancient entry from my myspace.... I probably posted it here long ago also. But fuck it, I'll repost it. I don't really socialize on here that much anymore, but since I'm not likely to update my blog anytime soon.... I thought I'd cap it off with what I consider to be my most moving piece of narrative.

Seriously, this will make you sadder and hungrier than any story should.




Today I present to you a tale of woe, heartbreak, disappointment and misery.

The scene begins.
I awoke a little more early than I would have liked. I quickly showered and got dressed, prepared to go to work. I called my customers to make sure I was needed, and found that I had to postpone the appointment until tomorrow. I was slightly disappointed, but at least I had the day off.
After my shower I felt clean and refreshed but still a bit sluggish. I had some breakfast, checked my email, watched some TV and played some video games. Then it dawned on me...

I was hungry for a sammich. Not just any sandwich either.
The megaultimate super sammich.
I had saved just enough of my cold cuts and whatnots from yesterday, so I knew I had exactly what I needed. My mouth watered in anticipation as the improvised recipe formed itself in my mind. I could practically taste it already.

And then I began the construction.
On two slices of whole wheat bread, I spreaded on a thin layer of horseradish sauce. I then piled on turkey, pepperoni, roasted sweet peppers, and provolone cheese. I toasted my beautiful creation in the toaster oven. Watching the pepperoni begin to crisp, and the cheese begin to bubble, my stomach rumbled in anticipation.
And then like a grand church bell, the toaster oven let loose with a glorious ding! My masterpiece was complete.

I gingerly placed the two halves of the sammich together and let it cool for a minute so the cheese could cement it together. Then I cut it in half... and took a bite.
Oh glorious horrorshow my brothers, the taste was incredible. I had crafted the perfect sammich. I mixed myself some chocolate milk and came down the stairs to my desk, where I now sit.
I munched happily on my beautiful meal, then placed it on the edge of my desk to take a drink.

As I turned, I heard a tiny thump; dread filled me to the core.

My creation... oh my beautiful creation...
It had fallen.

I looked down in horror at the gory scene which laid before me. My simple yet gloriously delicious piece of culinary artwork lay unceremoniously on the floor. Lint clung to its cheese, and dog hairs to its meat. Dirt and dust coated the bread.
Surely my slice of heaven did not deserve such a tragic fate! The last of my turkey, the fruit of my labors... lay on the floor like a piece of trash.
Briefly I contemplated picking the sordid debris from its fallen body. But it was too far gone to be saved.

My sammich was dead.