Back at the Sandwich Factory

An elderly women, named Bertha, sitting in a wheeled chair, slaps thick slices of liverwurst and olive loaf onto thin slices of rye bread. As the conveyor belt proceeds, aged Orwellian machines crank out ample amounts of mayonnaise onto the lunch meat and bread combo.

Then, the sandwich is wrapped in recycled cellophane, and tossed onto the dirty factory floor, where it will wait to be packaged and delivered.

Twenty hours passes and Bertha’s mayonnaise delight is still on the factory floor, being kicked around by janitors and mayonnaise machine engineers. Then, all of a sudden, “Gus the delivery guy” spots the lonely lunch meat, picks it up, then places it with today’s fresh batch.

Gus travels far and wide to deliver these delicious concoctions, to a small 7/11, just north of The City of Retards.

Gus arrives at his destination and places the sandwiches in decrepit sandwich bins, when a small man walks in and grabs one from Gus’s hand.

The small man hops along to the counter and pays for his sandwich, which cost him $3.39.

Just prior to taking a large bite out of this liverwurst/olive loaf/mayonnaise holy trinity, he rips off a label that says “Made by Bertha.”