<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"><title>Final Sandwich</title><subtitle>Most recent pieces of work.</subtitle><link href="http://www.finalsandwich.com/feeds/atom_all_writings.xml" rel="self"/><link href="http://www.finalsandwich.com/"/><updated>2010-01-13T21:20:42-06:00</updated><author><name>Final Sandwich></name><email>contact@finalsandwich.com</email><uri>http://www.finalsandwich.com/</uri></author><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><entry><title>Starwars - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/90"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2010-01-13T12:00:00-06:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ Everyday I eat gravy with a side of ranch dressing. As it pirouettes like a dewdrop about my homesick for blistex lips, gravity steals tender morsels, and how they plummet into the depths of my corduroy slacks.  I&#39;m like, damn, I sure wish they made a bib for my pants, so I began to dream of space clams &amp; 747 jumbo jets, and the funny children they would one day have.  I don&#39;t like hospital food, it makes me jittery on the inside. all that sweet, sweet msg and nowhere to go but down. ... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>Home of the Dead 5 (Massive Internationals) - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/89"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2010-01-11T12:00:00-06:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ "Preparing for a Roman boyfriend is no joke, and neither is getting your bearings, your balls in gear, your shit together, etc." / 1922-1993 was preaching to the choir, I had already completed a fourteen week weight training program in a matter of twenty minutes; tossing a load sauce onto every bronzerino mansaurus who posed so golden before my very eyes.  / "The Total Weight Lifters&#39; Guide to Arms of Pain??!!" 1922-1993 cried out with a scowl/naked chest; spilling his burrito all over, ... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>Home of the Dead 5 (Trapped in the Mother&#39;s Tang-Forester) - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/88"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2009-12-13T12:00:00-06:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ I awoketh, but failed to riseth much.  Mine was the next dimension, the one with the jelly head; the one with the brains spread thusly on the toast.  I had a black eye.  All four of 1922-1993&#39;s hands were tied, like, restrained behind his gross-ass back: a blanket of duct tape smashed snuggly across his lips and eye lashes.  We were surrounded by dynamite - fuses of the essence.  Next, I managed to cut loose the left hand, which fired instinctively to my hoo-ha.  Ever so slightly, with the most ... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>Leafy - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/87"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2009-10-25T12:00:00-05:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ My urine is green with environmental extasy.  Sometimes I hang out with deer in the forest.  We talk about the rising and falling of gas prices.  I feed him sugar cubes and punch him in his bambi looking kisser.  He rebuttals with two hooves to my kidneys.  I don&#39;t pee right for a couple days.  Its an inside joke. We lie in the grass and watch the starlight.  I draw moustaches on his face when he&#39;s asleep.  For some reason writing balls on someones forehead never goes out of style.  The ... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>Home of the Dead 4 (Kings of Energy) - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/86"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2009-06-08T12:00:00-05:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ Foursday, eleven-eleven, B.C. December - it was the day the power company decided to neglect the R.S.V.P. cut-off date for my birthday party (my husband&#39;s birthday party).  The request was explicit, precise, defunct and so forth.  Solution:  me, I, a.k.a. the Narrator, jumped in my baby carriage (the one with the bass drum attached to the side of it, the one with the snare drum mounted to the dashboard) and shredded rip curls all over God&#39;s creation - headed toward the fucking station.  As ... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>Dear Johnny #2 - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/85"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2008-10-30T12:00:00-05:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ As most of the world probably already knows I used to have an ungoing help article section to help out troubled youths with their problems.  Much like Dear Abby but actually useful.  Heres an example, more to come! / Dear Johnny,I&#39;ve been having a serious problem. Everywhere I go, people want to know, who I am, so I must tell them. It gets very very annoying to have to constantly tell them. What should I do? Please suggest suicide. / Signed Depressed in NJ / Dear Depressed in NJ,Sure committing ... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>Dear Johnny #1 - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/84"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2008-10-07T12:00:00-05:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ As most of the world probably already knows I used to have an ungoing help article section to help out troubled youths with their problems.  Much like Dear Abby but actually useful.  Heres an example, more to come!Dear Johnny, / I have a problem. I work with the most beautiful girl in the world, but no matter how hard I try to get her to go out with me, she always has an excuse not to. First It was her kids; once I had them killed, suddenly she&#39;s too grief stricken to even consider dating. My ... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>Some Kind of Hero - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/83"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2008-08-11T12:00:00-05:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ She thanked me, threw her arms around me, and called me a hero. / No one had ever called me a hero before.  I certainly didn&#39;t have the credentials I assumed most heroes possessed.  My only memory of middle school is the time I sharted in Home Ec.  I had to think fast and spent the last thirty minutes of class sewing my shorts into pants.  Needless to say, I was suspended for two weeks.  High school wasn&#39;t much better.  I was voted "Most Likely to Spit in Someone&#39;s Food" in my ... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>The American Dream - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/82"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2008-08-07T12:00:00-05:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ Had a dream I was treating Data the Android for / post-traumatic stress.  Apparently, / scientologists believed he is the supreme space robot, even though he&#39;s Hollywood / plastic.  Not surprised. 1/32 to scaled / models, cardboard, and old buttons from prize cranes are convincing.  At his wits end.  Plans to paint hand grenades like Easter eggs / for children in the park.  Not a bad / idea, yet frowned upon.  Strangely / removed.  Not surprised.  Been hiding in the garment district where ... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>The Smell of All Fear - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/81"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2008-07-02T12:00:00-05:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ His rotten teeth makes his sick mouth look like a zipper. Each time it unzips the horrors of my childhood come rushing back. I&#39;ve been watching this nasty bag of filth for about an hour now... still holding the first beer of the night. The site of his discolored  mouth rocks smashing bar peanuts into pulp is enough to make Arnold give birth... again. /      Well, I can&#39;t let that happen, because it is I who am pregant... with rage, and I&#39;m going into labor. One swing at the bar ... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>Home of the Dead 4 (Deja Menollie) - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/80"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2008-04-11T12:00:00-05:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ 1922-1993 felt drained, I mean, his condition was increasingly awful and extremely sexual.  We thought some good old-fashioned elbow grease might send a lightning bolt of hatred through his heart of sickness, so I drew up blue-prints for a dog house and we hit the grindstone, hats but no pants.  I drilled two three quarter inch holes in Patrick&#39;s chest; where his nipples once was - where his vagina once were.  Next, thrice parts copper tubing - inserted strongly in the butthole (to be no more ... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>The Tear Jerker - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/79"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2008-04-08T12:00:00-05:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ Archie Farchy made his living / Digging graves for fifty years. / For fifty years he filled those holes. / The Man Who Caused a Million Tears. / He touched boys of many ages / In a cave of many secrets. / Farchy took their fucking souls. / For fifty years he filled those holes. / He still has their fucking souls. / The Man Who Caused a Million Tears... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>Home of the Dead 4 (A Chapter in Loss) - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/78"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2008-04-06T12:00:00-05:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ On Monday morning around 3am, 1922-1993 was standing at the foot of my bed (which was a plastic racecar), reading from his book of original proverbs. / "Live now/create (remember that&#39;s "slash create," you little fuck), for soon your memory will be erased like a stepchild&#39;s             artwork," Patrick preached in a baritone register.  "Do not forsake the bake - pastry is tasty...thus, the lonely baker holds most     of the secrets." /     One good philosophical load of shit ... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>Legend of the Cactus Fondler. - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/76"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2008-04-04T12:00:00-05:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ "Caught at last Mr. Cactus Fondler!" / Now I know what you&#39;re thinking, Mr. Cactus Fondler isn&#39;t the most charming of nicknames.  Unfortunately in this case it rings true.  &amp;shy;You see I&#39;m a traveling man.  My main companion is the cold desert nights, and the cold nights can&#39;t warm you in the right way if you catch my drift. / Sure, traveling is great but sometimes a man must let his carnal needs run rampant.  So I&#39;ve enjoyed the rough prickly feel ... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>Home of the Dead 4 (The Potato Famine) - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/75"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2008-03-30T12:00:00-05:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ I woke up as an irish boxer, rising and falling/triumph blah blah, so I changed all the outlet covers in the house; that&#39;s known as an update, jazzbreath, and it was a chore with those green boxing gloves getting in the way.  1922-1993 was smitten, like, totally fucking naked, thumb-tacking his bean bag to a sesame seed bun (his bun, a.k.a. his own ass, for lent).  I was like, "whatevs," while I wiped the sesame seeds off his old/poorly tattooed/over tattooed/miserable rear-end (everyone knows ... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>Some poems to break the silence - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/72"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2008-02-25T12:00:00-06:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ The Hat:I saw the dragon,wearing the yellow hat,I&#39;d hate to be bragging,but I ate the cat. / Showering\Touching:My body is naked,all muscled and bronzed,the water is rusted,and so are my palms. / Body awake:My eyes are throbbing,my heart is beating,my head is pounding,and my groin is bleeding. / Love Sonata #2:Your scleras are tight,perfectly white,Your pupils are blue,So I&#39;m gonna bang you.Love Sonata #17:I don&#39;t have an imagination,so I&#39;ll borrow someone else&#39;s ... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>Silent But Deadly... - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/71"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2008-02-09T12:00:00-06:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ I am a stealth assassin.  As I creep through the reeds, clad entirely in black, you would think I was a black hole on wheels or a very quiet elk or something.  As I approach my target, I pause to avoid being detected by the sound of my heart.  I coax that fist of cardio muscle into a lull with some soothing talk.  "Don&#39;t worry, baby.  I&#39;ve got a few hundred milligrams of sodium for you when this is all said and done.  Shhh, baby."  I put my finger to my throat.  I never could feel my own ... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>Home of the Dead 4 (Shorty with no Patrick) - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/70"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2008-01-20T12:00:00-06:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ Last month in the forest, I spotted a dead body. She was cold, but her tits were frostbitten and half-eaten. "So," I says, "what&#39;s a girl like you doing with a face like that?" She looked at me blankly. I looked deep into her eye sockets, wondering who stole her eyes. The urge to purge came over me like a 60 foot redwood crashing through a camp cabin full of 1st graders. "Timber!" I yelled as I drained 4 kettles of piss into her ocular abyss.  Next time she&#39;ll remember to leave a trail ... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>Breakin&#39; Down the Wall of Fame - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/69"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2008-01-20T12:00:00-06:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ Makin&#39; waves, it&#39;s all about makin&#39; waves. That&#39;s what I do. I create an epic force in order to keep things running smoothly. In my line of work, you have to realize something - people are afraid of change. That&#39;s why I take strides, baby. That&#39;s why I make decisions. Big decisions. Like rearranging the storage room. Like moving the eight foot tables, or, as I&#39;ve been known to call them, "the perfect sized tables for buttsex," like taking those ... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>Home of the Dead 4 (Reinhard Tasty) - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/68"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2008-01-19T12:00:00-06:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ Feeling like a wretched spawn/useless victim, I took it upon myself to make 1922-1993 the supper of a lifetime.  I started by washing my filthy hands, only to molest four children in a row, vigorously.  Without missing a beat, I added a cup and a half of half and half, plus one entire bag of stale, shitty sour cream and onions.   /     "Out of my kitchen, you fucking coward!"  I screamed.  "You&#39;ll ruin my roast."    Patrick was peeking, and I was in no mood for tricks (or dicks), so I jammed ... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>Apartment 3B - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/67"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2008-01-13T12:00:00-06:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ His leg twitched slightly and he ran his tongue across the cloven surface of his upper lip.  He blinked once or twice and continued to lay there.  Motionless.  Basking in the warm, ruby glow of the neon light from across the alley.  It was the nightlight banner to the Chinese food restaurant, mere feet from his window; the "Harvest Moon."    The light massively plagued all the "B" apartments on floors one through four.  It would have cut a normal soul to shreds, but there was never anything ... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>Home of the Dead 4 (I, Protector) - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/66"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2008-01-11T12:00:00-06:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ Patrick grew obsessed with eliminating treachery from the music business; truly a man immersed in good cause.  1922-1993 garnered severe media coverage for his crusade when, in an unprecedented socio-political maneuver, he lit three dead birds on fire.  Thrilled with enthusiasm/raging peckers, I started a fanzine called "1922-1993: THE BASTARD OF THE CENTURY, HE&#39;S SO HOT."   /     I had one subscriber and I was swamped, so I fully staffed my zine-quarters with kidnapped Chinese three-year ... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>Home of the Dead 4 (Sanchez Erectus, a.k.a. Mega) - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/65"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2008-01-11T12:00:00-06:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ The search for undeniable freedom/liberty continued/led us to heresy/jobs as postal workers.  This was a special way for 1922-1993 and me to bone up on our mail bombs, off the gaydar.  I&#39;d come into contact with a few twinks named Obis and Richard, who had a rock super-group called "Shrouded in Darkness/Shrouded in Mysteries."  At this point, I realized the slashes were getting out of hand, so I abandoned the aforementioned tendencies in favor/honor of music with a message. /     Firstly, we ... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>Home of the Dead 4 (Roasted Chicken) - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/64"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2008-01-11T12:00:00-06:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ Exhausted from an entire life of pain/misery, Patrick and I started up a construction company.  We spent months/minutes creating/agonizing over a company name that succeeded in reaching a vast demographic: "Sexual offerings in Conjunction with Lamb Slaughter Construction Men." /     We hired an army of Slavic peoples and broke ground with two sticks of dynamite in a Euro-Blacker family&#39;s mailbox.  Business was business, and the busy season was wrought with tragedy/sex.  In other words, our ... ]]></summary></entry><entry><title>Home of the Dead 4 (Black Metal) - Final Sandwich</title><link href="http://finalsandwich.com/writings/63"/><id>http://www.finalsandwich.com/creators/</id><updated>2008-01-06T12:00:00-06:00</updated><summary><![CDATA[ Here&#39;s the thing about being in an orgy; you can&#39;t be unsure when it comes to swapping bodily fluids.  That kind of hesitation can cost you your life, and/or the life of your best friend, 1922-1993 (a.k.a. Patrick).  Furthermore, Patrick and I went out to dinner, and I mean we ordered the steaks...medium rare, like well done...Pittsburgh.  So I&#39;m trying to dine, and the fucking waitress dumps a pint of lager right in the toilet.  Like I said, we were in the ladies&#39; room ... ]]></summary></entry></feed>
