Wednesday, April 09, 2008

Sandwich Quickie

Once upon a time there was a little man who lived in your garage.

One day when you were getting your car out, he jumped down from the rafters and offered you a sandwich.

It looked like a really delicious sandwich, so you accepted it. It had mayonnaise on it, but you ate it anyway.

It was actually pretty good. The pickles especially. When you turned to thank the little man for his tasty gift, he was gone. You chuckled to yourself and drove away.

From then on, the little man would jump down from the rafters every Thursday morning and present you with a different sandwich. Some of them had wheat bread, some sourdough. Sometimes they were cold and had peanut butter in them, sometimes they were toasty and had bacon in them. Sometimes they were dessert sandwiches made with cookies and stuffed with little mini goats made of ice cream. On one occasion, the sandwich was filled with other tiny little sandwiches.

Then one Thursday in the middle of winter, the little man jumped down and handed you a weird sandwich that was all foldy.

“Blurgh!” you said, indignant. “I can't eat foldywiches!”

The little man spoke for the first time, sounding like Louie Armstrong: “Well, why th' hell not?”

You were kind of at a loss for words. You'd never had a foldywich before, honestly, but you were frightened by it. It did not have normal bread all up on it. It was kind of crescent shaped and pointy at the ends. These points threatened you, and you were scared of any filling you could not see. You poked the foldywich in its threatening contortions and re-stated your intention to have nothing to do with it.

“You a foo! Only the lamest kinda crumplewads be avoidin' these tastyfoods! I hereforth and fromwith is gone from here, and you can make yer own sandwiches, you crazy honky!”

“Honky?” you said, stunned, for you were not.


Then the little man climbed back up into the rafters and disappeared forever. You looked down at the foldywich in your hands and took a tentative bite out of one of the scary points.

It was delicious, and you learned an important lesson: ALWAYS eat food given to you by strange men who appear out of nowhere in your garage. But only if it's on Thursdays.


Jack W. Regan said...

No, I didn't! Hehee. Interesting point of view. What would this be, second person past? It's kinda cool in short bursts (like this post, for example.)

There was an old radio program called Escape, which used a similar technique (second person present) for its opening.

You are trapped in a remote valley in the Andes, walled in by sheer rock precipices. And surrounding you, closing in on you, is a band of blind men...who want your eyes.

That's the opening to the episode "Country of the Blind," which was adapted from a short story by H.G. Wells.

Any time Louis Armstrong is mentioned, it makes the post funnier. I should have mentioned that in my latest post, God sounds like Louis Armstrong.

“Honky?” you said, stunned, for you were not.

Anonymous said...

I have yet to find this little man you seek of. Perhaps my garage is not cool enough for him to be in there, or it is the fact that I am looking for him. oh well I will just have to go get my own sandwiches.