100219d

No one suspected the ham sandwiches. Well, Ali did, but no one listened to her until it was far too late.

082119c

So a friend's grandmother, who is not quite as sharp as she once was, was asked by a neighbor if she liked cucumbers. When she said yes, the neighbor gave her five of them. Alas, the grandmother doesn't actually like cucumbers at all. I can think of several possible reasons for her to say yes under these circumstances, but the world may never know which was the most important. In fact, I guarantee it won't. Anyway, this is how I scored two cucumbers, though my garden stopped producing them a couple of weeks ago. Cucumber slices are pretty good on sandwiches, and will go nicely with the sweet peppers that our garden is still producing.

110518b

Jason's catered lunch
six sandwich choices
and mine was good

062917

Hold the Mayo

There was the ham sandwich again. It had been following me for days. Shit. It lay on my open book, covering most of the last page of the story by HB Clonekraft entitled “Salami over Hismouth.” There was too much mayonnaise and it was staining the book. I sure hoped the librarians didn't riffle through the pages when I returned it. I picked up the book and gingerly tilted it so the sandwich slid into the trashcan. I hate mayonnaise on a ham sandwich. I hate the French, because they invented mayonnaise. I hate eggs because, well, I don't hate eggs, but if I did, you know why it would be. I should have put the book away last night when I quit reading, but I'd been so tired. I looked at the clock, slammed the book shut, and left it on the table as I ran out the door. I was late, as usual.

A bus was just pulling away from the stop. A light drizzle fell. The billboard on the corner advertised the new ham and mayonnaise combo at Moe's Deli. I have always hated Moe, but never more than I did right then. That was when I noticed the drizzle wasn't water. The drops were white. I touched one that had fallen on the newspaper box and sucked my finger. Mayonnaise. I looked up, saw a lightly toasted rectangle 60 feet across floating in air. Shaved ham was visible around the edges and mayonnaise was oozing from several holes in the toast.

I stepped into a doorway to get out of the mayorain. The sandwich didn't move, but the mayo was falling harder. I got a few white splashes on my shoes and jeans. Disgusting! Finally the bus pulled up. I was about to make a run for it, but just then the toast ripped in half. A glob of mayo as big as a Smart Car nailed the front of the bus. I turned away just in time; I could feel splatters machinegunning my back. The barrage subsided and I turned around. The bus seemed intact. I had just reached the curb when the ham let go, and that's the last thing I remember.

--

The doctor was a young man, pink cheeked ... I zeroed in on his name tag: "Dr. Prosciutto."

"You have a severe concussion," he said. "You may find yourself hallucinating." Behind him, packets of mustard clustered menacingly in the doorway.

Publ. Daily Cabal, 2010