November 30, 2020

Demands of and for a Union of Sandwich Artists

"When you were gonna rob a subway, but you forgot your mask at home"

The following is a transcription of a zine entitled “Order Me” found inside a sandwich I ordered from a chain sandwich parlor, which, even ignoring the content of the zine, was quite remarkable. I can only presume that the introspection that goes with mass producing take-out sandwiches all day has begun to expose the contradictions inherent in the capitalist sandwich art world. I leave interpretation of the implications, and perhaps act, of requesting or making these sandwiches to you, dear reader.

A sandwich that is ahead of its time, but will be recognized for what it is after your death.

A sandwich that I, the customer, get to make after an eight hour shift at Subway.

The worst sandwich you can imagine.

A sandwich composed of ingredients grown within 100 meters of the sandwich studio.

A sandwich able to dismantle the master’s house using the master’s tools.

A tiny sandwich, just big enough for one or two bites, but one that provides the satisfaction of an entire foot-long.

A sandwich memorial to the soldiers that died in World War 2.

A sandwich that is buried in a jar in the ground to ferment for two or more years, the longer the better, before being eaten.

A sandwich built on play to oppose the sandwiches built on terror.

A sandwich experience, wherein I don’t eat for three days, then eat a sandwich of your choosing.

A sandwich, to be reproduced exactly the same for three meals a day for a week.

A sandwich that will allow me to accept the deaths of my loved ones.

A sandwich to be eaten lady and the tramp style on a first date.

A sandwich for euthanizing those who wish to die.

A sandwich that can convey ten years of working as a sandwich artist; the highs, the lows, the drudgery, the small joys.

A self replicating sandwich.

A sandwich made entirely from ingredients found in dumpsters.

A sandwich, the ingredients of which will be determined through a decentralized direct democracy application.

A sandwich that renders the concept of sandwiches meaningless.

A sandwich that takes three hours to assemble.

A sandwich to be used as a sex toy.

A sandwich without organs.

A sandwich that is perfectly spherical.

A sandwich that will be the prize for a three day long battle-royale fighting competition between 100 people; the great outdoor fight.

A sandwich that can only be given freely, as a gift.

A sandwich to be transmuted into the body of Christ.

A sandwich to mediate conflict and settle disputes.

A caffeinated sandwich.

A sandwich made from wild ingredients, foraged in an urban environment.

A sandwich that will be auctioned off for enough money to buy forty acres and a mule.

A sandwich to be experienced through sound, not taste.

A translucent sandwich.

A sandwich that will call into question the role of the Subway corporation in the creation and dissemination of sandwich art.

A sandwich that will be put on a pedestal and left to rot.

A sandwich for ducks.

A sandwich with a relatively low LD50.

A sandwich to be eaten one bite at a time for eight hours.

A sandwich for poisoning emperors.

A knuckle sandwich.

A sandwich for post-humans.

A sandwich without a gender.

A sandwich made while blindfolded, with one’s ears and nose stopped up.

A sandwich that grants immunity to proof of payment for everyone on a bus with said sandwich.

A sandwich spoken of only in whispers.

An open source sandwich.

A sandwich that is a soup.

A sandwich that will pay my rent.

A solar powered sandwich.

A sandwich that will abolish the sandwich artist class.

A sandwich that vibrates at 432 Hertz.

A sandwich that will be panini pressed from six directions, creating a compressed sandwich cube.

A sandwich to be eaten on the barricades.

An erotic sandwich experience for the asexual.

A wish against the coming desert sands.

A sandwich art strike.

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