Subway to Insanity

What is more satisfying than a sandwich from Subway? I can think of numerous things, not least among them having dysentery while being strapped to the electric chair. Oh, Subway, bane of my life and a scourge upon chain restaurants! Why must the most ubiquitous healthy-alternative restaurant in our nation remind my taste buds of maggots and pubic hair sandwiched between pieces of soggy cardboard?

My mouth pleads for mercy when I find myself lunching with one of its brainwashed converts, who shuns burgers and insists that the Cold Cut Trio "ain't half bad." Indeed, it "ain't" half bad, my Philistine friend: It is three quarters bad, rounded out with a solid one quarter of mediocrity.

Oh, why does not our society tear its hair and beat its breasts at this plague on our souls and children? To think of Subway's detestable insistence upon using iceberg lettuce. Iceberg is aptly named, for it is lettuce that will prove to sink the Titanic that is our culture. America, a lumbering, over-decorated behemoth that feels nothing could sink it. Little do we know we are already at the bottom of the sea, freezing in the waters of our own indifference!

Not to mention the Neanderthals that Subway employs to serve us a heaping helping of blandness. Some unfortunate souls can only type at a ratio of 30 words per minute. Subway goes out of its way to find those special someones who process speech at 30 words per minute.

And the few employees who can operate normally are stricken by the assumption that they deserve to be in Mensa because they can correctly pronounce the words Asiago and jalapeño.
They scorn you if you hesitate in deciding what accoutrements to compliment your sandwich with. They glow with smug superiority after asking what kind of bread you want your sandwich on for the third time.

You think you're smart because you can't hear what I'm saying? You think you're smart because you require me to shout my bread preferences as if the building were on fire?
For the last time, parmesan oregano you deaf tart! My mouth is hoarse with shouting and the look of satisfaction on your face keeps growing as my heart keeps sinking.