Jeff Wysaski
I’m sorry, fellow tablemates, for what you about to see, but I have not eaten since breakfast (nearly seven hours ago), and I assure you that the satisfaction from my paltry bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios was replaced by pure, unbridled hunger hours ago.
Combine this with the fact that I have been eying this sandwich from the clear display case since we first walked into the deli, and I assure that things are about to get ugly in here.
Simply put, this roast beef sandwich is beautiful – a work of art really. And I have been dying to sink my teeth into its warm, buttery onion roll for the past ten minutes. And now that we have finally made it through the line, I am going to warn you all by telling you I am totally gonna go to town on this roast beef sandwich.
Be prepared to be blown away, because when I say “go to town,” I mean that I am gonna completely ANNIHILATE this mother fucker. You think you’ve seen someone totally own a sandwich before? WELL THINK AGAIN! Because I am about to rip into this sucker with so much unbridled fervor and passion, that you’ll think my intelligent human brain hath been replaced with that of a million mindless, murderous wolves.
I warn you: this is not going to be pretty. No doubt, I will forego all pleasantries associated with modern-day table manners in my attempt to properly devour this sandwich. Using a napkin? Not gonna happen. Taking sensible bites? Fat chance. Chewing with my mouth open? NO FUCKING WAY!
There are no ifs, ands or buts about it: I am going to make this roast beef sandwich my bitch. And if you think I don’t have the stomach to pack away this monster sandwich of pure perfection, you’ve got another thing coming!
That warm roast beef? Dead to rights! The creamy provolone cheese? Ashes to ashes! Those crispy tomatoes!? Well, I don’t like those, so I won’t eat them.
But everything else, I promise you, will be taken to town via an unrelenting and hyper-fast barrage of wide-open bites, each more enormous and less chewed than the last!
So my friends, if you are faint of heart, I suggest you keep your eyes on your own plate for the next three to four minutes. Because what I am about to do to this roast beef sandwich would be considered illegal in 48 of our 50 great United States.
If, on the other hand, you are in the mood for a show, then by all means, sit back, relax, and watch as I deftly devour this sandwich with pure joy and gluttony.
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