After the sandwich arrived, they waited forty-eight hours, and then they slept on it.
It's been a year since they slept on the sandwich.
The sandwich knows how heavy you are.
She's desperate, desperate, did you hear me?, to make sure that everyone knows that she's better than the sandwich. Do you know the type? Pretentious, "I don't eat anything out of a can, and I sure as hell don't eat anything packaged, especially my baked goods; they are all freshly handmade, only; well, except bread, I buy the most. expensive. bread."
The sandwich can hear you.
It's always what someone warns you against that reveals to you who they are, for example: the nastiest person will always warn you that the sandwich is nasty; the person who's out to get you will always complain about how the sandwich is the enemy; and the person who schemes to destroy you insists that the world is full, full I tell you, of people who only want to harm you, that the sandwich just wants to spew negativity into the world.
Blessed are the poor, for they are meek, or really, for those in power, it's best that the poor remain meek and powerless, in love with the sandwich, because we outnumber them 1,000 to 1.
She doesn't hate the sandwich; she hates from where the sandwich came.
The sandwich insists that you always listen to the ass-holes; they are confident in their ability to release shit into the world. You were warned.
Being is not enough. The sandwich says that you must also earn your place in this world. Others, lesser beings, say that you are enough, that you, just you, deserve every happiness. The sandwich disagrees.