Wednesday, March 25, 2009

I'd like a sandwich!

Tomorrow you will make me sandwich. A sandwich of my choosing. It is to be prepared to a strict guide. A guide of which I will supply, right here and now. There will be no wavering from these strict specifications. Everything will be exactly as I request, down to the smallest of detail. If these instructions are not followed exactly, there will be severe consequences. So severe that I dare not taint this page with there mention. But believe me they're bad.

The sandwich will be chicken breast with basil pesto mayo on a roll. This is nonnegotiable! You may be saying, "doesn't all pesto have basil?" Yes! It does. I'm just making sure.

Provolone! This is the only cheese to be used. You will administer 2-3 slices depending on size. These slices will sit atop the breast, like a slightly melted dream floating through the peaceful night.

In addition, when you grill my all white boneless chicken breast, I'd like a smattering of red chili flakes to be added! The flakes will serve as spicing agent that will induce thoughts of Flamenco dancing and dirty sex with Latins.

And the bun.
The bun of course will be lightly toasted to a golden brown hue, not un-similar to that of a field of wheat, blowing in the Ohioan summer wind.

Furthermore, a frugal amount of fresh, green leaf lettuce will accompany the rest, as it will sit atop the all white boneless breast and creamy provolone cheese, in such a way a sail boat might float across the Chesapeake bay in late September.

I'd like chips!

To wash it down, I would like one bottle of either Squirt or Coke. Bottles, mind you not cans. I find the aluminum to taint the beverage, much the same way a skunk may taint the fresh spring air of a gorgeous Georgian night.


Oh, ham and cheese? That's fine too.

1 comment:

  1. Mr. Hall,

    Is you dead or sumthing?

    I ain't heard form you in like months and shit.

    Well, I hopes your good. Things is good down here. Me and Jimmy ripped it up during squirrel season. I kicked his ass again. Mostly cuz he wnet and got hisself arrested again.
    I done told him to stay away from that Russian's (my fucking commie neighbor) goats, but he didn't want to listen.

    Well awright. I guess thats it. I ain't got more to say ... but I did notice that Tyler guy seems to stopped fucking wit you.
    Maybe he's the reason you aint ben writing any new letters and shit ... maybe he kilt you and has your body under his back steps (a good place to hide 'em if asks me, but you prolly new that being a spy and shit).
    Maybe he be doing stuff to your ded body like Jimmy on them Russian's goats.

    I'll see what I can find out and let you know.

    I sure hope yous awrite.

    Your frend,


    P.S. -- If you aint dead, you should come visit. It aint squirrel season for a while. But they did just open a new gas station out by the Kmart (if you know what I mean....)