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Troubling Thoughts About Sandwiches

Is there anything more pitiful than the look your dog gives you when you’ve just finished a sandwich without giving her any? Because if there is, I haven’t seen it.

Honestly, you’d think she’d have been more disappointed with us when we had her spayed. Or neutered, whichever it is you do to girl pets.

(Which is to say, whichever it is you’re supposed to do to girl pets. What you people actually do to your girl pets is between you and your veterinarians. I don’t want to hear about it — I barely sleep at night as it is.)

Anyway, that didn’t seem to faze her. Sure, she spent the next couple of days sleeping it off, but I never saw that hurt, longing, disapproving look from her when we had her de-genderated. But scarf down a BLT without tossing her a crust, and she’ll make you feel like you just dropped a tractor on her mother. I don’t get it — since when are ovaries less important than egg salad? Seems like a problem with priorities to me, but what the hell do I know? Right now, I don’t have ovaries or a sandwich.

Hey, speaking of pitiful looks and sandwiches — is that really Hootie shilling fast food on those Burger King commercials? Maybe it’s not — hell, maybe it’s not even supposed to be; I’m not so good with my wussy-rock pop references — but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t look like Hootie, parading around with a guitar and crooning about bacon cheddar ranch something-or-others.

(And by the way, is that thing the most ridiculously long-windedest-named damned sandwich, or what? The full name of the godforsaken thing is apparently the ‘tender crisp bacon cheddar ranch sandwich’.

Who the hell makes a six-word sandwich and unleashes it on the public? Look, the Dagwood is three feet tall, and it barely needs six letters. And you don’t see Boy George prancing around and singing about it, either. What was wrong with the ‘Whopper’, anyway?)

All right — what the hell was I talking about, anyway? Sandwiches? Hootie? My dog’s ovaries?

Eh, this seems like a good time to stop. Those three things can’t be good in any combination. And it’s probably best not to think too hard, trying to imagine a combo that is good. That’s just creepy, folks.