Good afternoon, Debbie.
Pay attention, because I’m about to order the greatest goddamn sandwich you’ve ever made in your short career at the Subway Corporation. How long you been here, baby? Three months? That’s adorable. You wake up inspired every day to craft better sandwiches? I hope so, Debbie, because I’m about to give you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to build the most incredible motherfucking Oven Roasted Chicken sandwich anyone has ever tasted. You feel me?
Debbie, today is not just another day of slapping cold cuts and lettuce on bread like some goddamn assembly-line worker. No ma’am. Today, you’re going to transcend. Take your round little ass over to that oven and pull me out a warm 12-inch Italian Herbs and Cheese loaf. Not just any loaf, Debbie. I’m talking about the cheesiest, herbiest, most Italian-ass bread you’ve got back there. Grab that loaf like it’s a feisty colt and you’re ready for some bedroom bareback rodeo.
Now let’s get surgical. Slice that bad boy open, smooth as a hot knife through sweet cream butter. Split it delicately, like you’re opening the legs of a young virgin on a warm wedding night. That’s it. You’re doing great. Now hit me with some thick mayonnaise— and let me stop you right there— you do not wait until the end to squirt mayo on a sandwich. Who the fuck taught you that porn-scene nonsense? This is America, Debbie. Mayonnaise goes on the bread, not on top of the goddamn ingredients. Slather that shit on thick.
Beautiful.
Now we come to a very important moment. Pay attention, Debbie. I’m only going to say this once.
No. White. Motherfucking. Cheese. Repeat that shit back to me. Good girl.
Lay some sharp cheddar on there. That’s the color of cheese we’re talking about. Golden. Bold. Unapologetic. Just like me.
Now for the the star of the show: the chicken. Chicken is the most versatile meat in the world. Fried chicken. BBQ chicken. Chicken soup. Chicken and waffles. Chicken and dumplings. Hell, chicken can be anything. It’s super meat.
You see that piece of chicken right there? Third one down from the top? That’s the one. Put that glorious hunk of bird on my sandwich. Gently now, like you’re tucking a preemie into a blanket.
Next we turn up the heat.
Crank that toaster to 475 degrees and toast this motherfucker like it owes us royalty money.
While that’s cooking, let me ask you something, Debbie—are you familiar with Henry V? No? Let me enlighten you: “It will toast cheese, and it will endure cold as another man’s sword will.”
That’s Shakespeare, Debbie. Cultured as shit.
All right, pull that masterpiece out and let’s cool it down with some lettuce. You know how every movie gets better when Samuel L. Jackson shows up? Same deal with lettuce on a sandwich. Lettuce is the Samuel L. Jackson of sandwich toppings. Pile that shit on.
Now here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna say some words, and you’re gonna add the ingredients.
Ready?
Tomatoes.
Cucumbers.
Black olives.
Red onions.
STOP.
You didn’t hear me say pickles, Debbie. DID I SAY MOTHERFUCKING PICKLES? No, I did not. So why in the holy hell are you reaching for pickles like they belong here? Did Jared himself rise from his dank prison cellblock to whisper, “Add pickles to Samuel L. Jackson’s sandwich”? No? Then back the fuck off with those pickles, Debbie. I didn’t ask for them and I sure as hell don’t want them.
Let’s move on.
To make things right, add two or three slices of crispy bacon.
That’s it, Debbie. You’re killing it now.
But we’re not done yet. You see that shaker of seasoning over there? Pick it up and shake it so hard I can hear your titties clapping together. Don’t be shy. That’s the sound of culinary excellence and it’ll also garner you an Oscar nomination. I know what I’m talking about.
All right, here comes the grand finale. Take that magnificent creation and cut it—not in half—but into four motherfucking pieces. Yes, I know it’s unorthodox, but trust me. It’s the way this sandwich was meant to be enjoyed.
Now wrap it up.
Let me tell you something—I’ve been in over 100 films, Debbie. More than any other goddamn actor in history. But do I know how to wrap a sandwich? Hell no. That’s your department. Just make it tight enough to keep it from leaking on my lap but loose enough so I don’t have to hack it open like a cockpit full of snakes.
Perfect.
Now stick some extra napkins in the bag, grab me a bag of BBQ Sun Chips, and tell me how much I owe you.
What the hell do you mean you don’t accept Apple Pay?
[This article first appeared in Okrabiscuit Humor Magazine, August 18, 2015.]