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This is not an Article, it's a Sandwich

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This is not an Article, it's a Sandwich

Hello, my good fellow! I am Sir Reginald Mantle, and today I would like to share with you a tale of the utmost importance! You see, I have become dreadfully famished, and in my state of hunger I was reminded of my time in Shangri La—t'was so long ago, dare I say, I had nearly forgotten all about it! You do have a moment, don't you? Please, have a seat and I shall regale you with my story while my dear old wife prepares lunch for us...

You:  “Uh, okay sure.”

Very well! It was a sweltering hot summer day, and I had just finished waxing off all of my chest hair. You see, I was auditioning later that evening for a fabulous all-male review at the local nightclub. Oh, this was long before I had met my dear old wife and I needed to find a job—something to pay the bills or else I was going to be in dire straits!

I was quite fetching in my younger years.

There I was on the beach, my freshly waxed chest glistening in the afternoon sun. I had just applied a rather Suntan oil.jpgobscene amount of suntan oil, and I was planning on getting a nice coat of bronze in preparation for the evening—when I realized that in the frenzy of spa treatments I had forgotten to eat lunch, and my stomach began to lurch—back then just as it is now. Are you also hungry, my good friend?

You:  “I guess so.”

Ho! My dear old wife shall be bringing us something scrumptious to eat quite soon, although it will be no match for the the meal I'm going to tell you about right now. Let's see…where was I? Ah, yes! There in Shangri La, laying in the hot sand, dreaming of something to eat—no money to speak of, when the owner of a beach-side bistro happened by, albeit a bit of a pooftie—are you familiar with the term?

You:  “Gay?”

Precisely! Exactly that, although there was no real evidence to support this supposition. Merely an effeminate fellow, If I do say—and as he was passing by, he had been eying my exposed, muscular pectoral area quite appreciatively—when he asked me if I was hungry, and he would fetch us both something to eat. What luck! I was in no position to decline the very generous offer of a free lunch, so I of course accepted his advances and he ran back to his restaurant, giddy with excitement to have the chef prepare us a waterfront picnic.

He returned swiftly, and told me that the waiter would bring us a feast fit for a king! He then introduced himself as John Montagu the fourth, and as he was talking I realized that I had become so starved that I could barely pay attention to the conversation over the growling of my stomach!

Well, my ravenous desires were soon quenched, as I could smell our feast approaching long before I could see it, jaw-dropping sight that is was.

Do you like sandwiches?

You:  “Of course.”

Yes, I suppose everyone likes sandwiches. Well let me tell you, my dear friend, that this was no ordinary sandwich. This was by far the most massive behemoth of a sandwich, the likes of which I have never—and probably will never see again. The sheer sight of it was scintillating. In fact, the very thought of it at this moment is arousing me somewhat, and I am feeling a slight stirring in my nether-regions! Mere words cannot describe the grandiosity of this gargantuan display of bread, condiments, and meatstuffs, bread, condiments and meatstuffs, bread, condiments and meatstuffs—peppered with all kinds of accoutrement—quite possibly everything you could ever want on a sandwich, including the kitchen sink. If only I could have eaten it all!

It reminds me of the time I entered a hot dog eating competition at the State Fair in 1976. The grand prize was two hundred dollars, and I desperately needed the money. I didn't win that day, but I ended up taking home Miss Riverdale that night—she 27, and I, a strapping-young 19 year-old man— and we went back to her place and did the horizontal mambo all night long. I had never had a rim job before, and that night there were rim jobs and blow jobs galore, and my new-found favorite act of coitus: pegging! I didn't like it at first, but by the next morning I was begging her for more! Why, I was in tears as she shoved me out the front door—if only I could have just gotten pegged one last time! Have you ever been pegged?

You:  “No.”

I do recommend it. With the right person and the right lubricant it is an experience that every man should have at least once in his lifetime. A very provocative and humbling adventure, stimulating in ways you never thought possible.

You:  “I think I'll pass.”

Suit yourself, but I daren't say, 'I told you so' when you try it and enjoy yourself immensely—I digress, now back to the sandwich of epic proportions—I bet you're dying to hear the details of that, so I won't dally any further.


For starters, it had nearly every type of bread you could imagine—white bread, wheat bread, rye, pumpernickel (my personal favorite), sourdough, French, croissant, hoagie, bagel, pretzel, brioche even challah! Could you imagine? And of course, there was the lettuce. All kinds of lettuce! Do you have a favorite kind of lettuce?

You:  “Not really.”

No? Well, if you had, it would have certainly been somewhere on this sandwich, I assure you! And I mustn't forget the bacon. Over a pound of bacon! My dear, sweet baby Jesus, it was such a thing of beauty—it made a good old bacon butty look like nothing but an appetizer for a Young fattie.jpgwell-fed toddler. And mayonnaise! Gobs and gobs of delicious mayonnaise! John mentioned that there was at least an entire jar of mayonnaise used to make the sandwich, and I had hoped he meant the larger, wholesale jar, and not the regular, grocery store size jar of mayonnaise. I just couldn't ever eat a sandwich without mayonnaise on it, it would be a travesty! My dear old wife just loves it when I slather her lady parts with mayonnaise and give her a bit of the old cunnilungus—definitely one of my favorite sexual lubricants. And tasty!

Tell me, good chap, what is your favorite kind of sandwich?

You:  “I dunnno. Ham?”

Oho! There was ham. All kinds of pork—shaved pork and pulled pork. My favorite sandwich is a good, old-fashioned BLT, so after the bacon and lettuce there were lots of perfectly ripe tomato slices. Beautiful heirloom tomatoes, and of course, your everyday hothouse tomato. I believe there were even some fried green tomatoes if I do remember correctly, although they might have been just under-ripe golden tomatoes.

Then, there was the cheese. Swiss, cheddar, muenster, gouda, havarti, most incredibly every type of cheese you could possibly name, and perhaps some artisanal form of fromunda cheese yet to be named. Why, there was a mountain of American cheese—the stuff dreams are made of—along with this fabulous olive tapenade from Greece. Glorious green pimento olives and delicious black Kalamatas. I once knew a Brazilian showgirl that would place six olives inside her rectum and then—for the right price—she would, one by one, plop them into the eager mouths of her very willing customers. In fact, if you paid her a bit extra, she would even tiddle your winky as she did it, and you could marvel at her glorious backside hovering just a few inches from your face as you enjoyed a sweet 'Charleston pickle with a side of gherkin jerk'—a rare delicacy, indeed. I do relish such savory memories!

Oh, but the sandwich! The onions are worth mentioning, especially the raw red onions. I just love the sharpness and crunch they add to the palate. There were caramelized onions and grilled onions, as well as over three different types of onion rings (I particularly enjoy the panko-breaded ones)—but my favorite is a lovely piquant pile of freshly sliced red onions. Yum!

One of the more interesting ingredients on this 'sandwich to end all sandwiches' was frog meat. If you've never had frog, you should try it as soon as you have the chance! It tastes just like dark-meat chicken, but with a slightly gamey taste that I loved in soups and stews as a boy, and now sandwiches! The Earl of Sandwich himself was even kind enough to offer me some refreshing frog semen soda to drink—I doubt you've ever tried that, but it is worth the high ticket price. On a side note, have you ever seen a frog's penis?

You:  “Maybe once in Biology class.”

Yes, during dissection no doubt. I believe the scientific term for them is 'pollywogs'. They look quite a bit like our penii, just smaller. In my humble opinion, that is the tastiest part of the frog, and I often wonder if it is the same for human flesh, although I could never bring myself to try cannibalism. Besides, I read somewhere that humans taste like a cross between horse, pork and chicken. I've had horsemeat, and I'm just not very fond of it. What about you?

You:  “…”
No matter. Another of my favorite sandwich ingredients is tuna salad, and tuna salad there was—even some perfectly seared sushi-grade ahi! My word, I was in heaven! You know, my dear fellow, ahi can sell for as much as five thousand dollars a pound in Japan? Well, didn't I feel like quite the catch that wonderful day on the beach, the man—a stranger, offering me such a splendid afternoon banquet—and sparing no expense! I tell you, even though I am straight as an arrow, I considered at least giving him a good old-fashioned
Rusty Carburetor  
  1. When someone gives you a blow job while you're taking a dump.
  2. A device that mixes air and fuel for internal combustion engines that has iron oxide on its surface, usually from prolonged exposure to moisture
'rusty carburetor
with a reach-around', I mean this was a real bean-feast!

It was almost as if Thanksgiving had come early that year, such a delightful display of hand-carved roast turkey—bits of crispy turkey skin, deliciously moist and tender—there were patties made of stuffing, a sweet and tangy cranberry aioli that was to die for. Speaking of turkey, my dear old wife often remarks that my scrotal area reminds her of a turkey neck! I've never seen it from that angle, although I did try to look at it once using a hand-mirror. Perhaps maybe you could have a look and tell me if she's right?

You:  “I'd rather not.”

Oh well, some other time. The final morsel of crudité I should tell you about is the peppers. Such a vibrant array of sweet peppers, pickled peppers, bell peppers in every color of the rainbow—even blue! They were quite simply dyed blue with food coloring, but fascinating nonetheless. And the purple peppers! Quite tasty indeed—they were a perfect compliment to the large assortment of salamis and sausages there, layer after layer of delectable goodness. Capicola, Mortadella, Genovese, even a bit of the ol' Kielbasa! I bet that's your favorite—you don't even want to know that things I've done with Kielbasas and summer sausages in my lifetime—I'd hate to ruin your appetite with such gory details of my youth.

You:  “…”

Speaking of appetites, my dear old wife should be bringing us lunch any moment. She is not a great cook, but bless her heart, she tries—quite the hellcat in the sack though! Ah, the sandwich, the sandwich, the marvelous sandwich! There were noodles on it! A noodle sandwich! I had never dreamt of such a thing! John assured me that they were quite common in certain parts of Asia, and he sold them at his bistro fairly often. Ramen noodles, Udon and spaghetti—noodles made of zucchini and carrots! Such festive garnish, and fun to eat—although a bit messy. I had spilled quite a bit of sauce and food on my bare-naked chest, and when John offered to lick it off of me, obliging him was the least I could do in repayment for such a wonderful luncheon.

Oh! I nearly forgot. There was pizza on the sandwich as well. Pizza sort of is a flat sandwich if you ask me, but it was warm and gooey—melted cheese and pepperoni—a traditional Italian tomato sauce, loaded with herbs and fresh oregano, garlic and basil. I think it might have been the best pizza I've ever had, save for the fact it was on a sandwich!

Then there was a puzzling ingredient, something I had never had before—tires! Yes, I was a bit skeptical at first, but John begged me to try them. He swore, they tasted just like abalone, and you know what? They do! They tasted exactly like abalone, sliced very thin and sautéed with some soy, ginger and lemon. Oh, what a surprising treat! I have since had tire two other times, and I have to say that John's preparation was the most palatable and flavorful—even better than real abalone! But the craziest ingredient of all, I couldn't even bring myself to try. Do you know what that was?

Geraldine Grundy:  “Here's your lunch, sweetie!”
(Geraldine saunters in and sets a tray on the table between you and Reginald.)

Thank you my dear! Peanut butter and jelly, an old favorite! Do have some, won't you?

You:  “Oh…thanks.”

You're welcome! I would not make you sit and listen to my rantings without providing the sustenance I had promised. And deary me, what timing! Anyhoo, to recapitulate I was about to divulge the strangest of edible enumerations on this enormous monstrosity of a sandwich—crowbars! Deep-fried crunchy bits of steel and metal!. Well, my friend it is a good thing that I was already full from the rest of the sandwich or I might have gone hungry! But alas, my belly was packed to the gunwales, and I could eat no more. In fact, I was so bloated with comestibles I could barely make it to my audition that night. I did though, and by Jove—I got the part! Can you believe it? Me, a Chippendale. *sigh* Another time, another tale.

File:Chippendales 1992.jpg
My most formidable of aspirations.

Of all the sandwich ingredients I've told you about today and all of the others I've either left out or otherwise failed to mention, my most favorite of all would have to be roast beef. I do fantastically enjoy heap upon heap of sliced roast beef, served warm and tender with a side of steamy au jus. Tri-tip or prime rib—gorgeously pink or deep red, mouthwateringly brown on the edges. And do you know why, my dear friend?

You:  “No, why?”

Oh ho! My good fellow, why, roast beef reminds me of my dear old wife's vagina! Voluptuous and lusciously full meat drapery—finger-licking good! Mmmm hmm, I just can't get enough of those succulent beef curtains!

You:  “…”

See also

File:Beef Curtains.jpg