Sammich Superfreak

The other day the girlfriend and I were at a hipster restaurant for our usual balanced breakfast of liquor and sandwiches when the bartender decided to ruin eating forever. We sat there, just about to silently enjoy our delicious booze and sammiches, when he put on a CD and blasted it full volume. It was Rick James’ “Superfreak.”

Appetizing, no?

Oh, we toughed it out for a bit, tried to choke down a few bites in between verses, but it was no use. Everything that entered our mouths had the bitter tang of Jerry Curl chemicals mixed with coke-snot and stale KY Jelly. The entire restaurant came to a stop as we all frowned down at our destroyed meals, waiting for the song to end. But description alone can only get one so far, and so I have made this to help you understand the depth of our ruination:

And I bring you to hell with me.

I know hipsters are all about irony and elitism but seriously, fuck offa my sammich you fop-haired cockwads.

Couldn’t you have ruined some other meal for somebody else? Blasted some of John Denver’s “Rocky Mountain High” while yuppies try to chew some sushi? Maybe rocked a little Sir Mix-a-Lot’s “Baby Got Back” while some poor bastard tries to swallow a mouthful a ham? Even pumped out some “Kiss” by Prince while a family of four tries to keep down their Sloppy Joes? There are any number of less important foods you could’ve ruined for other people with your inappropriate dining music.

All my fucking signals are crossed now because of this; I tried to eat a chicken sandwich earlier and blacked out, when I came to I was wearing a crushed velvet blazer and dry-humping a loaf of bread while children cried in the next room. Thanks a ton, Rick James and hipsters.