Sandwiches

Have you ever thought that if one person drops a piece of bread on one side of the Earth and another person dropped another piece of bread at the same time the world would become a sandwich for just a brief second?

I’ve thought about it. Along with some other things too.

But honestly, do sandwiches have to be closed off, my bread? The only sandwiches I have seen not closed off by two pieces of bread is a cupcake and Lunchables cracker sandwiches.

And must the two pieces of bread be parallel? Because I have seen sandwiches made of one piece of bread, just bent over. If those things are considered sandwiches, what exactly is a hot dog? Is it an incomplete roll or a one-breaded sandwich? Is a taco a sandwich? A pita falafel?

Also, if one puts a sandwich, say a nice grilled chicken sandwich, into a blender, is the outcome a sandwich? If it is so, what if someone spread the chicken sandwich mush onto a cracker and tops it off with another one, does that make it a “sandwich sandwich”? Or if a sandwich has three pieces of bread with filling in the middle is it a “sandwich sandwich” a “double sandwich” or just the normal term “sandwich”.

Is an Oreo technically a sandwich? Does that make the backward spelling of my octopus’s name “Oreo” also a sandwich? (Ze octopus’s name is Oero, for whom it may concern.)

If you have two pieces of bread stacked on top of each other, that would be an oxygen sandwich (assuming that most nonexistent readers live in places with oxygen) and if another piece was added on top it would be a bread sandwich. Following that logic, I’m guessing that all stacks of bread are automatically sandwiches.

Of course, I remember that sandwiches do not need to be closed off by bread, so that would make all edible things that are stacked a type of sandwich.

But, then again, do sandwiches need to be edible?

 

 

 

Match Box

Perfectly constructed. The perfect bread sandwich. Three pieces of bread, no crust, and a wonderfully spongy texture.

I patted my beautiful creation, taking off my chef’s hat, as Arachnid walked in.

“What’s this?” she asked, shuffling the bread in her cactus-covered hands. “Is this what you eat to control your stalker urges?” She took a bite. “It’s….” She chewed some more, “Really good!”

I wrinkled my now-healed nose at her.

“I think I should write a blog post about this! It’ll be my first time writing about you.” Then she scrutinized my face. “Are you mad at me? For a simple sandwich?”

“You just…,” I tried to stop myself from bursting into flames, “ATE IT!”

“Yeah.” She cocked her head. “So?”

“She… the sandwich…” Tears bubbled up from the pressure I was putting forth to not freak out. “I was going to eat it!”

“You could just make another one,” she mumbled, backing away slowly.

I just ignored her, taking out a vanilla scented candle and lighting it. “For the bread sandwich. For all the memories we shared…”

“ARE YOU BECOMING MASTER?” (you, dear nonexistent reader, will understand this once our next book comes out) “Oh, blobfish!” she cursed. A spider crawled up her arm, uttering little, worried mumbles I couldn’t understand. Sometimes those spiders get on my nerves.

I continued to mourn for the bread sandwich.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” She shook her head. “I told you! No more weird things! Like crying for a sandwich.”

With my fingers twitching in anger, I blew out the candle and stormed away from her.

I watched person of interest from behind the threshold.

“This is a surprisingly normal scent,” she murmured, smelling the candle. “Not a trick. Wow, Spinette.”

There was a long pause.

“Too bad,” Arachnid spat out a match, “That I’m not normal.” She swiped the match on her wrist, watching it catch fire. “You were right Spinette. I am a matchbox.”

“WHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAAAAA!” That was definitely not normal.

“Spyder? Are you still there?” She whirled around.

By the time she looked behind the door, I was in a bush, eating Hot Cheetos. She’ll never be able to catch me here! 

I patted my pet octopus Anihparas and gazed at the stars, feeling a ticklish sensation on my foot. I checked my foot, finding a black blob and looked up. Then I did a double-take.

“Spider!” My body flailed around in shock. “GET OFF MEEEE!”

Then it farted, glitter spilling onto my hands. “GAHHH! HOW DO YOU EVEN DO THAT! OH, EGGS! DOES 1+1=0?” I fell into the poky rose bush, throwing the glitter into the air. It rained down on my face as I tumbled to my eventual death.

Luckily, Arachnid was about to light the bush, and caught me, or rather, crumpled under my weight into the bush.

“Arachnid!” I smiled. “You saved me, you adorable match box!”

“NOT ADORABLE,” she grumbled.

“You… weird match box!” I tapped her nose.

“I have to clean the chimney,” she scoffed. “Check those suggestions on Slugventures for me.”

“Kiwi!”