Mustard

As I sat eating a delicious Subway sandwich (I can has money now, Subway?) I thought to myself, "How long could a normal human being live on nothing but mustard?" The reason for my curiosity is because I apparently give off some kind of vibe that screams "I have a severe mustard deficiency! Please drown out the flavors of all my carefully selected sandwich ingredients with enough mustard to kill an infant!" I may as well have ordered a bowl of mustard and a twisty straw.

I blame the state of our economy on Subway and their mustard-happy ways. I neither want nor do I need a pound of mustard on a single sandwich. That excess mustard could be put to a thousand more practical uses, like feeding the homeless or lubricating doorways for fat people. And if I ever meet the guy who invented honey mustard, I'm gonna stab him in the uvula. The only things that go worse together are philosophy majors and gainful employment.

Mustard, as we all know, is the original fabled ambrosia, but by definition, too much of anything can ruin an otherwise well-proportioned sandwich. Just like, as Eli Roth proved, too much flesh-eating bacteria can ruin a boring weekend in a secluded cabin with that other annoying guy from "Boy Meets World." Or how Robin Williams proved that too much Robin Williams can ruin an entire career.

My point is that the Subway big-wigs (or perhaps the big cheeses) need to let their employees know that if I get one more sandwich swimming in mustard, I just might have to roll up my sleeves and do some serious raping. But to perfectly honest, I'm not sure what's more amazing: That I actually wrote this whole thing on a cell phone, or that I just subjected you to a 300-word rant about mustard.