PORFLE!PORFLE VS. ZOMBIE LUNCH MEAT

I remember this TV commercial I used to see in which a guy opened up his refrigerator and a sandwich started talking to him.  I can’t remember what the conversation was about.  Maybe the sandwich was griping at the guy for not spreading the good brand of mustard on it or something.   Anyway, I always found this image highly disturbing in a number of ways.  First of all, the guy is just standing there...
August 6, 20089 min

I remember this TV commercial I used to see in which a guy opened up his refrigerator and a sandwich started talking to him.  I can’t remember what the conversation was about.  Maybe the sandwich was griping at the guy for not spreading the good brand of mustard on it or something.  

Anyway, I always found this image highly disturbing in a number of ways.  First of all, the guy is just standing there talking back to this sandwich, listening to its gripes (whatever gripes a sandwich might have, besides the most obvious one, of course, which would be that it exists only to be eaten), and actually being apologetic to the sandwich.  Hey, dumbass–it’s a SANDWICH.  You’re a human being.  If you feel the need to apologize to two slices of bread with some cold cuts between them, you might as well shoot yourself.  

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” this total loss whines to the comically indignant sandwich with the googly eyeballs.  “I’ll be sure to buy the good [i.e. MOST EXPENSIVE] brand of mustard next time.”  

“Well, see that you do!” the sandwich snaps back.  

Here’s the thing–why is this guy not totally freaking out?  If you opened your refrigerator one day and a ham sandwich with googly eyeballs started flapping open and shut as though it had a big, gaping mouth and was yapping at you, with a piece of lettuce or Swiss cheese flicking around in some ghastly approximation of a “tongue”, would you just stand there calmly weighing the validity of its complaints?  No, you’d go instantly insane and run around the house ripping your clothes off and screaming “YAAAAAAA!!!” at the top of your lungs.  Eventually you’d end up on the local news being dragged into a nut wagon while your neighbors stood around saying, “Well, I saw this coming.”

And why the hell does the sandwich want to be slathered with the tastier brand of mustard anyway?  Are we to believe that it WANTS to be eaten?  That its main goal in “life” is to be as delicious as possible while being devoured alive, suffering the supreme agony of getting ripped apart and gnashed into mush by giant teeth, bathed in corrosive stomach fluids, and then processed through some guy’s digestive system?

Are these suicide sandwiches?  Have they made some vile pact with the mustard company in which they push some particular brand right up until the moment of their horrendous demise, in return for the promise that their families will be well taken care of?  The implications of this are too revolting to contemplate.  For one thing, I doubt very much if the mustard company executives are going to honor their end of this hellish bargain after the sandwich has been eaten.  They’re not about to let the rest of these ungodly living sandwiches which constitute its “family” run around loose while subsisting on some company trust fund.  
Why should they?  No judge in his right mind is going to entertain a lawsuit where a mustard company is being sued for breach of contract by a bunch of sandwiches.  His honor would probably vomit all over his bench as soon as one of these hideous creatures took the witness stand.  And can you imagine flicking over to Court TV one day and hearing the words, “The court now calls salami-and-cheese on whole wheat to the stand.”  The only good that might come from the resulting muppet-show-from-hell would be getting to see Nancy Grace and Alan Dershowitz blow massive chunks all over each other back in the studio.

But the supreme horror of all this is the idea of the guy opening his refrigerator, engaging in conversation with this bizarre talking sandwich, dutifully spreading the good brand of mustard on it as it so stridently insists, and then–heaven help us–eating it.  Would he kill it first?  It seems the only humane thing to do.  I guess grabbing a kitchen knife and stabbing it several times as it screams in agony might do the trick, or maybe frying it to death in the microwave.  But just think–if the cow, pig, or chicken was slaughtered and turned into lunch meat, and the lunch meat now lives again as part of this sandwich, doesn’t that make it zombie lunch meat?  How the hell would one kill reanimated, zombie lunch meat?

And what about the googly eyeballs?  Would the guy rip them off first, or just eat them along with the rest of the sandwich?  And if the sandwich can talk, would it not also have vocal cords, muscles, tendons, cartilage, a circulatory system, internal organs, a brain, and various other organic components too ghastly to contemplate?  Why the hell would anybody want to eat THAT?  

I know…it’s just supposed to be a “funny” idea for a commercial.  But ideas have consequences.  And as far as we know, every idea creates an alternate reality in which such outlandish concepts actually occur.  We simply happen to live in the one where people DON’T eat horrible zombie sandwiches.  But for all we know, our own reality was created when some advertising genius in another reality came up with a goofy idea for a commercial in which people actually go to David Hasselhoff concerts and have sex with Carrot Top.

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