The “Blimpie” Way

Blimpie is the best Sub Shop, hands down baby.  They have the best-tasting bread, cut their meat semi-fresh, and still manage to keep their sandwiches affordable.  As for the competition, they blow for various reasons:

Subway - My hatred for them is well documented by now.  Their meat tastes like preservatives, their cheese appears to have been made by young boys in Asian sweatshops, and their bread ovens make me smell like a walking yeast infection for the rest of the day.  And if you’ve been reading me for a long time now, you know that they once served me a testicle sandwich.

Quiznos - On paper, Quiznos looks like it should destroy its competition.  Bigger bread, more meat, toasted subs…and yet for some reason I’m always sorry I ate there.  It inevitably costs more, and 9 times out of 10 it makes me feel heavy and bloated, and I spend the rest of the day making sweet music with my puckered colon (I know, I’m a charmer).

Cousins - LOL.

Yep, Blimpies is the place for me when I have a hankerin for a tasty sandwich.  And I’m not just saying that because I just signed a six figure advertising deal with them either.  So it was a pretty typical occurance the other night when, while driving home from my exciting job as a crime-fighting Ninja, I decided to stop in my local Blimpie and get something to go.

As I walked in the door, my mouth started watering and my stomach growled as I began to anticipate that golden bread and fresh, thinly-sliced deli meat. Trouble was, I really needed to take a piss bad.  So after stopping at the counter and asking the guy to start making my sub (the place was pretty empty) I hot-footed it into the cramped, dingy bathroom and approached the one, lone toilet bowl.  And that’s when I saw this:

Only it wasn’t a pickle my good friends and loyal readers; it was the single biggest piece of shit I have ever seen, and it lay at the bottom of the toilet bowl, staring up at me petulantly like a spoiled child who’s bathtime has just been interrupted.

My appetite suddenly gone, I choked backed some vomit as I flushed the dung-brick away.  I could be wrong, but I thought that for just a moment it fought desperately against the crushing flow of water.  Then it was gone, like a corn-filled nightmare, and I finished taking a leak.

As I trudged back out to retrieve my once treasured, now unwanted Blimpie Sandwich, the guy at the counter asked me how I wanted it.  I gulped, and the words that I had uttered so many times before seemed to take on a new, more dire meaning:

“I’ll have it ‘The Blimpie Way.’”