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I, Sandwiches Chef MAG
Sandwich synthesis, swiftly stacking savory slices of sustenance.
Burnt bread bodes badly, better bread beseeches benevolence.
Meat mastered mercilessly. Meticulous mannerisms make marvelous meals.
Novices know not the carefully crafted crunch of crispy crust.
An elegant engineer, a cunning chef, my veins pump with mustard and mayonnaise.
The knife in my hand is a blur. To say that I have mastered my craft is an understatement of the grandest and highest proportions.
I do more than assemble parts into a whole. I create art of a higher standard – my medium is found in your refrigerator. I openly ostracize others, attempters of art who have no place in the kitchen.
I am the best of the best, the iron chef of sandwich stadium. Whether wheat, rye, or sourdough, I prevail. I make people experience the delicious. I make sandwiches.
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W O W
Y O U R P O E M W A S A
G R A N D
S L A M ! ! !
Reading this poem was a simply wonderful experience. It's just one of the many reasons I luff you.
Sincerely,
Mongoose
