UPDATE: How To Make The Saddest Sandwich
UPDATE: If you're looking for a tasty, heartbreaking beverage to go along with your Saddest Sandwich, here's Girlfriend with her quick n' easy recipe for The Smoothie of Sorrow:
Take some Freezer-burned ice cream, a can of generic fruit cocktail, and skim milk left over from a failed diet.
Combine, drink, and cry.
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NOTE: This is a recipe for woe. And by "woe," I mean "sadness." Not the Joey Lawrence kind of "whoa," which as you can see is spelled differently. And really, I think you knew that already; didn't need me to point it out. Hey, maybe I just like thinking about Blossom. Did that ever cross your mind? Nope, because you never think about C-dog's wants and needs.
Okay, so let's assume that you're hungry. You'd like a sandwich, but you're bored with peanut butter and jelly, and you really don't feel like putting on pants long enough to head down to the Subway (and, let's face it, it's not like you can afford to eat there anyway). In fact, you want something completely different; you want a sandwich that will not only sate your hunger, but will also make you feel bad about yourself while you prepare it, eat it, and digest it.
Well, friend, I've got just the ticket:
THE SADDEST SANDWICH
That's right! It's a sandwich that's main ingredient is your own sorrow! First, let's start with what you're going to need on hand:
2 Slices of White Bread - Preferably not a name brand; something generic and, if possible, slightly stale. Don't eat anything that's moldy, of course. This is not The Meanest Sandwich, after all; the hurt that The Saddest Sandwich inflicts should be purely psychological.
1 Slice of Off-Brand Turkey Salami - Again, avoid the name brands. I like to use White Rose Turkey Salami, because it's only 99 cents for a package and buying it makes the cashier look at me with a strange mix of pity and contempt. If White Rose isn't available in your area, just go with what's cheapest and most shameful.
1 Slice of Pre-Wrapped, Processed, American Cheese - Only one, understand. And it shouldn't be large enough to cover the an entire slice of bread. It should sit in the middle of the slice like an off-yellow bulls-eye, taunting you while highlighting your loneliness. It goes without saying at this point, but the cheese shouldn't be of a well-known brand. Cheap, in every sense of the word, should be your motto.
A Good Smear Of Miracle Whip - Oh... go ahead. Use a name brand just this once! It's the same thing as when you buy really expensive beer that's out of your budget thinking that it will make you feel better because, while you're a wretched person living a horrible existence, at least you can savor something of quality. It won't work of course; nothing can penetrate the fog of your failures. But isn't the illusion of happiness just as good as actual happiness? No, it isn't, but that's not for you to worry about now.
Because now, it's time to...
ASSEMBLE THE SADDEST SANDWICH
-Take the two slices of bread and place them side-by-side on a cheap, paper plate. Stand there for a few minutes, staring at the bread, while you recount the mistakes you've made in your life.
-Open the fridge and remove the salami, cheese, and Miracle Whip. Note the barren interior of your refrigerator and how it mirrors your own emptiness.
-Hold back the tears as you take a knife (a dull knife; don't want to get any ideas!) and slowly spread a thin layer of Miracle Whip on to each slice of bread. When finished, sigh heavily.
-Unwrap the cheese from it's plastic and lay it down on one of your slices of bread. You can smell the chemicals from the processing plant wafting off of it's wiggly, gummy exterior and you long for the day when your meager wages can allow some real, Kraft-brand cheese for your sandwiches. Laugh bitterly at the thought of a future that my never come.
-Remove the slice of turkey salami from it's package. Gag at it's sliminess. Place it on the other slice of bread and, with a heavy heart and a sluggish mind, move on to the final step.
-Bring the two halves together, marrying the hateful cheese and pathetic salami in a bond of mocking Miracle Whip and lifeless bread. Pick up the paper plate, feel the sandwich's weight in your hand, and walk slowly and determinedly to whatever room in your hovel most suits your eating activities (provided you have more than one room; you seem like the type to own an efficiency apartment).
-Enjoy! Or, rather, don't.
WARNING: Do not consume more than one Saddest Sandwich in a given week, particularly around the upcoming holidays. Doing so will lead to your presence high atop the tallest building or bridge within walking distance from the drafty, small room that you sneeringly refer to as "home." Only eat The Saddest Sandwich if things are really as bad as they seem; no sense in ruining a good life just because you feel the need to see what all the fuss is about. The Saddest Sandwich is stronger than you, and you should never forget that.
Take some Freezer-burned ice cream, a can of generic fruit cocktail, and skim milk left over from a failed diet.
Combine, drink, and cry.
---------------------------------------------------------
NOTE: This is a recipe for woe. And by "woe," I mean "sadness." Not the Joey Lawrence kind of "whoa," which as you can see is spelled differently. And really, I think you knew that already; didn't need me to point it out. Hey, maybe I just like thinking about Blossom. Did that ever cross your mind? Nope, because you never think about C-dog's wants and needs.
Okay, so let's assume that you're hungry. You'd like a sandwich, but you're bored with peanut butter and jelly, and you really don't feel like putting on pants long enough to head down to the Subway (and, let's face it, it's not like you can afford to eat there anyway). In fact, you want something completely different; you want a sandwich that will not only sate your hunger, but will also make you feel bad about yourself while you prepare it, eat it, and digest it.
Well, friend, I've got just the ticket:
THE SADDEST SANDWICH
That's right! It's a sandwich that's main ingredient is your own sorrow! First, let's start with what you're going to need on hand:
2 Slices of White Bread - Preferably not a name brand; something generic and, if possible, slightly stale. Don't eat anything that's moldy, of course. This is not The Meanest Sandwich, after all; the hurt that The Saddest Sandwich inflicts should be purely psychological.
1 Slice of Off-Brand Turkey Salami - Again, avoid the name brands. I like to use White Rose Turkey Salami, because it's only 99 cents for a package and buying it makes the cashier look at me with a strange mix of pity and contempt. If White Rose isn't available in your area, just go with what's cheapest and most shameful.
1 Slice of Pre-Wrapped, Processed, American Cheese - Only one, understand. And it shouldn't be large enough to cover the an entire slice of bread. It should sit in the middle of the slice like an off-yellow bulls-eye, taunting you while highlighting your loneliness. It goes without saying at this point, but the cheese shouldn't be of a well-known brand. Cheap, in every sense of the word, should be your motto.
A Good Smear Of Miracle Whip - Oh... go ahead. Use a name brand just this once! It's the same thing as when you buy really expensive beer that's out of your budget thinking that it will make you feel better because, while you're a wretched person living a horrible existence, at least you can savor something of quality. It won't work of course; nothing can penetrate the fog of your failures. But isn't the illusion of happiness just as good as actual happiness? No, it isn't, but that's not for you to worry about now.
Because now, it's time to...
ASSEMBLE THE SADDEST SANDWICH
-Take the two slices of bread and place them side-by-side on a cheap, paper plate. Stand there for a few minutes, staring at the bread, while you recount the mistakes you've made in your life.
-Open the fridge and remove the salami, cheese, and Miracle Whip. Note the barren interior of your refrigerator and how it mirrors your own emptiness.
-Hold back the tears as you take a knife (a dull knife; don't want to get any ideas!) and slowly spread a thin layer of Miracle Whip on to each slice of bread. When finished, sigh heavily.
-Unwrap the cheese from it's plastic and lay it down on one of your slices of bread. You can smell the chemicals from the processing plant wafting off of it's wiggly, gummy exterior and you long for the day when your meager wages can allow some real, Kraft-brand cheese for your sandwiches. Laugh bitterly at the thought of a future that my never come.
-Remove the slice of turkey salami from it's package. Gag at it's sliminess. Place it on the other slice of bread and, with a heavy heart and a sluggish mind, move on to the final step.
-Bring the two halves together, marrying the hateful cheese and pathetic salami in a bond of mocking Miracle Whip and lifeless bread. Pick up the paper plate, feel the sandwich's weight in your hand, and walk slowly and determinedly to whatever room in your hovel most suits your eating activities (provided you have more than one room; you seem like the type to own an efficiency apartment).
-Enjoy! Or, rather, don't.
WARNING: Do not consume more than one Saddest Sandwich in a given week, particularly around the upcoming holidays. Doing so will lead to your presence high atop the tallest building or bridge within walking distance from the drafty, small room that you sneeringly refer to as "home." Only eat The Saddest Sandwich if things are really as bad as they seem; no sense in ruining a good life just because you feel the need to see what all the fuss is about. The Saddest Sandwich is stronger than you, and you should never forget that.
posted by Clinton at 7:42 PM
12 Comments:
thank you! I'm hungry and I want to go kill myself.
Just a minute ago, the sun was shining, but now a black hole of emptiness has sucked all the life out of my day.
Stew and Ross... Yeah, that's what I was going for.
Why do you stay in NY and torture yourself when you can be out on the open prairie of TX living life to the fullest and be all happy and gay (not that kind). Why. Why. why?
I'm not tortured. I'm actually quite sunny. This post sprang forth from a sandwich I made the other day (one similar in ingredients to the Saddest Sandwich) and I just wrote it out to it's most illogical extreme, for giggles. Dude, in general, I think you'd really be better to assume that I'm just kidding about everything.
My grandma used to make me those sandwiches everytime I visited. I never realized she WANTED me to be that unhappy.
What a bitch...
Personally, I thought this was hysterical. Sad, too, but mostly hysterical.
That's pretty sad, but I think there are even more sad, ghetto sandwiches out there.
Like the sugar sandwich: two slices of bread, slathered in butter, not toasted, with sugar sprinkled on the butter.
Or the Ramen sandwich: same as the sugar sandwich but instead you sprinkle the seasoning flavor that comes with ramen on the butter instead.
Next episode: Clint designs the Smoothie of Sorrow
All through college My roommates and I had what we called the hobo sandwich, or "hobo-wich" for short.
This culinary creation consisted of one slice of white bread with mayo, ketchup and mustard with one slice of processed cheese to top it off. Unfortunately, that was our subsistence when cable bill time came around.
While I was making this a tear fell onto the processed cheese...
You could assume the same about most of my stupid posts also. It would be so boring if I only wrote serious replies no wouldn't it. WOULDN"T IT. I thought so.
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