*ahem*
     So... a guy goes out to get lunch for himself and his brother.  Whiles he's out, something horrible happens to his brother. Let's say he dies. He feels awful. When he gets home, the police are there
and he's hysterical.  Among all the confusion, he runs into the house, throws his sandwiches into the fridge, and frantically ponders what to do? what will he tell his parents?  Anyway, he gets back from the hospital, all hysterical and whatnot, and he goes to the frigde.  The sandwiches.  He's really hungry.  but what does he do with the sandwiches? he eats his.  "mmmmmmmmmm... eggsalad." Anyway, he starts
thinking that if he hadn't gone to get those damn sandwiches, this whole thing would never have happened.  So what does he do with the sandwich he got for his brother?  His brother died because of this sandwich. Some bread, bologna and cheese pretty much killed his brother.  He's really hungry.  He didn't eat lunch, he missed dinner because he was hysterical at the hospital.  What does he do with this other sandwich, the one his brother wanted. "No, goddamnit! I said bologna and cheese!" the infernal words echo through his head.  Why didn't he call for pizza? What does he do with this other sandwich.  He wouldn't feel right eating it. His dead brother wanted it, and he died because of it.  But he's really hungry because his brother dying made hime miss two meals, and he never eats breakfast. He thinks. Maybe  he can keep it as a symbol of the last thing his brother asked him for.  But how long could he keep a sandwich?  Plus, money was pretty tight as it was, and if there's one think his brother hated, it was wasting food.  Maybe he could freeze dry it. But everytime he looked at it in its glass case with the sign "The Sandwich That Killed My Brother", it would kill him.  No way.  He'd feel better if he just threw it out. He doesn't know what to do.  Too many options. too many emotions. he puts it away and goes to sleep.  he'll think about it tomorrow.
        He gets up and immediately remembers the sandwich.  Well, and his dead brother. Hour after hour, day after day, the sandwich controls his very existence. He doesn't know what the hell to do with it.  Finally, after much heart-felt deliberation, he decides.  "My dead brother's bologna and cheese..." he thinks as he stares blankly at the namesake of the Earl of Sandwich.  He opens the bag, pulls out the sandwich, sobbing.  Tears flowing, he takes a bite.  "Wait a minute! what the... Turkey and Swiss!?"  He gets in the car, gets to Subway in about 56 seconds, goes in, waving the sandwich madly and frantically screaming. "My fucking brother dies over this sandwich and you don't even have the goddam common decency to give me the right order?!"  "I...I'm sorry..." the portly manager tells him," there must've been some mix-up." He got somebody else's turkey and swiss!  Only one thought occupied his mind:
"Somebody out there has my dead brother's bologna and cheese!"
 

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