When I was an eight-year-old kid, they were the two most unfunny jokes in the world.
It would be 3:30 in the afternoon, two hours before dinner. I would go up to my mother, tug at her jeans, and look up to her with the sweetest little puppy dog face and say, “Moooommmmm, I’m huuuunnnngry.”
“Hi hungry, I’m mom, nice to meet you!” she’d reply.
Frustrated, I’d give a little whine, and press on, “Can you make me a sandwich?”
She’d drop what she was doing, turn to me, and pull her hands in close to her chest, wait two seconds, and extend them both out like she was performing a magic trick.
“Boomph!… You’re a sandwich!” Continue reading
Jake Berent 