Subway Bloody Subway Feb15


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Subway Bloody Subway

People are up in arms (well, lawsuits) about the stunning betrayal that is Subway’s 11-inch footlong. I don’t even know which side to be on here. I believe that judges should be allowed to use their gavels to beat the plaintiffs in frivolous lawsuits out of the courtroom… but goddammit does Subway have it coming.

There was a time when I tolerated Subway. Maybe even enjoyed it. I was just a stupid kid. And they had meatballs.

I’m not sure when I completely turned against the place.

Perhaps it was back in high school, 11th grade I want to say, when a rousing garage band practice in my parents’ basement had degenerated into an impromptu death metal jam session about where we were about to go to lunch. After the success of our KFC song the week before I may have gotten carried away and went for the old spin the guitar over the shoulder move. Which I now know works better when you are not in a basement with seven-and-a-half foot drop ceilings. It just might have been that day, as I catatonically munched on whatever that fucking chicken teriyaki thing with too many onions is called, my mind on the shattered headstock and dangling strings of my Parker P-38, that I lost the connection. But the guitar would be fixed, and I enjoy recalling that story as the single most prescient anecdote to illuminate my aborted music career.

Could have been when a few systemic breakdowns and the ensuing medical forced me into the unmasculine lifestyle of the gluten free. But I hold no grudge against Quizno’s.

It’s probably just growing up. The economics of being out of the care of your parents and off of an on-campus meal plan that puts the grocery and dining worlds into perspective. My intial beef with this overgrown turkey stand is simple: one should not pay for food one could make without cooking. The retailing of lukewarm sandwiches, much like the slinging of rock, is a cold and calculating method of preying upon the deficient.

I’ll give Subway the benefit of the meatball, and that aforementioned chicken thing; I think they even have some half-assed hot steak thing now. But that’s not their attraction. It’s the health. Jared. That droop-shouldered poon who has inspired an ark-load of fat fucks to drive to the Subway next door for the sake of their figure. This is a paragon of the male body? If he cornered me in a dark alley, I’d laugh in his flimsy face. Even if he had foot-long nunchuks. So, if the idea is to go to Subway because it is so healthy it will give you the body of a middle-aged tech support manager, we need to leave the meatballs off the table. This is about the turkey, the tuna, and the rest of the 7 under 600 or whatever the hell their calorically themed menu is called.

Full Disclosure: I am lazy. I don’t like to make my own food. I don’t like to go to the grocery store. I don’t even like driving to a fast food place. I don’t like any food that isn’t brought to my house pre-assembled. And I am not cheap. I’m the type of Jew who has hired a personal chef before he has made any money to do exactly that. But there is a line for me, and I think it is paying for a cold sandwich. I could be in my deepest hungover malaise and it would still be less trouble to craft my own ham sandwich then to drag my ass to Subway to buy one. And it would taste pretty much the fucking same.

And don’t get me started on Februany, the asinine slogan currently dumbing down the airwaves. A slogan so incomprehensible they based an entire commercial around the fact that none of their myriad athletic pitchmen (you’re better than this RGIII) could pronounce the damn thing. And Februany is really a bigger lie than the 11 inch footlong debacle. A thinking person (who for some reason has nothing worthwhile to think about) would assume that the “any” part of this bastardization of Black History Month means that you can get any of their nearly-footlong sandwiches for a sawbuck. Not so. Apparently, there are also some $6 specials for the elite of the sub sandwich community. So, not only is their brilliant addition to the decimation of the English language impossible to say, but it is also utterly meaningless.

So, if the footlong suit gets shoved up the plaintiffs’ collective cornhole that’s fine with me. And if anyone deserves to be slammed undeservedly it’s gotta be Subway. If the good guys never win, at least this time one of the bad guys get’s screwed.