Blog of Magic Cheese

I don't know why the guys at work seem so partial to this gyro place just across the street from our building.

First of all, when I think of gyros, I think of a giant stack of meat turning on one of these dealies. The sizzling cooked meat is then shaved off, and it looks something like this.

At least, that's how the gyros that I saw all over the Saint-Michel district of Paris were prepared, and how I continue to think of them today. An English co-worker informed me that in London, these are known as kebabs, and that you only eat them after stumbling out of a pub following a long night of drinking, as you would not want to consider eating them sober.

No matter. Gyros these are in my mind.

This sandwich that I purchased today for over $6 had compressed chicken material lunchmeat in it for meat. It was so inadequate that I'm actually angry with the sandwich for being so inadequate. I had it and a large glass of pomogranate blueberry juice for lunch, and over the course of the next five hours I devoured a pound of dried apricots, two apples, a can of pringles, and a bag of candy and I came home ravenous. I wolfed down a large turkey sandwich on some real bread and half a bag of vegetable chips before we started off for the gym.

I don't know what the hell was in that sandwich, but I'm starting to suspect it was diet supplements.

Also, Pringle detritus is disturbingly undistinguishable from dandruff. I thought somebody had snowed all over my new desk until I remembered what I'd been reduced to eating because of that horrible sandwich.

Never again.