Nine –
Gather all the stupid human ingredients and make yourself a stupid sandwich.
Include a banana.
Devour, alternating between angry grimaces and fanatic smiles.
Tell the bread that it was fantastic, and the peanuts that they were fantastic and the plate the it was fantastic, and you know what, taste buds? You were fantastic, too!
Rose –
For the first nineteen years of your life, don’t eat any sandwiches. Not ever.
Then, run away while biting the first one made with plenty of ingredients from the North.
Wait until it gets nice and thin, and declare your love for said sandwich.
Lose it, and take comfort in pie. This is the story of how you pied.
Tear a hole through the fabric of a paper bag to finish eating the sandwich.
Once completely ingested, insist that you love it again…and put your mouth all over a sandwich made with the exact same ingredients, one that loves you back too and knows that it does need peanut butter-ing.
Also, stuff in some chips. Lots and lots of chips inside all sandwiches.
But remember, it’s a sandwich. You cannot get high off of it.
Jackie –
Put on your dressing gown.
Open the bedroom door, and know the anything could happen with that strange new bread that was just delivered to your home.
Later, decide to spend the rest of your life with a more expensive version of your beloved sandwich that went rotten many years ago, vomiting up a few little sandwiches together.
The Daleks –
Regurgitate! Regurgitate! You are the enemy of the hamburgers, and you will be regurgitated!
Jack –
Stride into a supermarket.
Smile and introduce yourself to every single product.
Let every product have the wonderful honor of experiencing the feel of your mouth all over it.
Repeat with every single supermarket in existence, or equivalents therefor in every international
culture. Pet food stores too. Maybe some retirement home cafeterias. Avoid crack houses.
Ten –
Does it need a recipe?
Welllllllll, just lick it all over, then eat.
Oh, but sorry – listen up: because this is important: make sure to say you’re sorry first. You’re so so sorry, you really are. But your taste buds have the bread, and it’s up to you to eat now.
Best make it an Italian sandwich, so that you can say “Alons-y, alfredo sauce!”
Cry when it’s finished, and you have to make an entirely new sandwich. You don’t want to dough!
Martha –
Remember that one sandwich with the real great crust, some really great crust? Attempt to bite into it for a year.
Even stick by the bread when it temporary turns into a normal cracker with a mundane brand name.
Later, travel the entire world telling everyone the glory of that bread.
Realize that…you know what? Your jaws are good. They deserve to be treated to bread that likes your bite.
Go with one made of dark meat.
Sally Sparrow –
Don’t bite.
Bite and you’re fed.
Don’t churn your stomach.
Don’t eat some whey.
And don’t bite.
Good Luck.
The Master –
Capture the sausage sandwich two other people are lusting after, and hold them all hostage.
Put the sandwich out in the sun so it ages. Make it listen to Scissor Sister, while you indulge in some Teletubbies.
Wait until the sandwich turns into fairy bread.
Hold onto it real tight, while insisting that you absolutely hate it – but secretly imagine all the wonderful positions it could take inside your mouth.
Wait two years.
Can you eat them? The bread of crumbs?
Donna –
Travel the world, searching for the confidence to make a sandwich.
Make one.
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