The Spiderman Sandwich: A Eulogy

I will not claim to be the best sandwich maker in the world, nor the universe for that matter, but I know how to make a sandwich. My sandwiches are often so good that when I get down to that last part, the part where it’s time to plot out the remaining bites so that the very last bite is the best, I become sad. There is some kind of mournful feeling of, “It’s about to be over. This is the last bite of this sandwich that I will ever get to have.” It’s almost the same sadness when just finishing an orgasm, the same, “Damn I hope there is another like that.” Sadly, I know there never will be another like it. But my hopes arise soon after with thoughts of possible better ones, or ones just as good but for different reasons. We are gathered here today in memory of my ham, cheese, pepperoni, and spinach sandwich on wheat bread, lightly toasted. This was not the kind of sandwich that needed any kind of doctoring with condiments. There was plenty of bold flavor found in each of the ingredients themselves. It was the kind of sandwich that resembled that of a newly founded handsome guy, probably in the age range of 20 and attending college. He would be the kind of guy that was rather nerdy in high school that no girl gave the time of day but still danced with at the school dances to be nice, even though he usually stepped on their already sore pinky toe. Perhaps he was the kind of guy that many girls in high school secretly wanted because they knew that once those braces came off, he would smile harder than the sun. Now that he is in college, free toothed, unprepared for the horny sorority girls, he is facing what he would never have expected. What person would put ham, cheese, pepperoni and spinach together? And what person would have the guts to put all that on wheat bread that is lacking any sort of mayonnaise or mustard? Most importantly, who would expect that to taste so good? Before you, I speak of the man that unexpectedly came galloping into the light, with an unpredicted mixture that contained a taste that only a select few had the privilege of. He was the kind of man that probably had his heart broken by intelligent but emotionally retarded girls more than a few times. He most likely walked with a name like Parker, perhaps because his life somewhat resembled that of Peter Parker, Spiderman, who I am sure gave amazing orgasms. If you have ever known this man or the sandwich, I bestow empathy upon you for my heart aches with the memory of the last bite of this sandwich.