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You know, I went to a sandwich shop the other day, and I ordered a footlong. Now, I'm not saying the sandwich was too big, but halfway through, I had to start using it as a measuring tape for other things in my life. "Oh, this stack of bills is about three inches tall... just like my sandwich was before I tackled it.
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Subway has this brilliant marketing strategy – they call it a footlong, but it's never actually a foot long. It's more like 11 inches. I mean, that's not a foot, that's a foot-fib! I feel like I've been shortchanged an inch of sandwich, and that's an injustice I'm not ready to forgive.
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The footlong sandwich is the only food item that makes you question your life choices halfway through. You start thinking, "Should I have gone for the six-inch and lived a life of moderation, or do I embrace the chaos and finish this beast?" It's a culinary existential crisis.
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Ordering a footlong is a bold move. It's like telling the sandwich artist, "I trust you with a full 12 inches of my happiness." And then they proceed to ask you, "What type of bread?" as if your entire life philosophy hinges on that decision.
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Subway employees always ask if you want your footlong toasted. And I'm thinking, "Is this a sandwich or a spa treatment?" I just want to eat my sub, not send it to the sauna for a rejuvenating experience.
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I bought a footlong sandwich, and the guy behind the counter asked if I wanted it cut in half. I thought, "Sure, why not? I'll share it with my future self." But then I realized that present me and future me have vastly different ideas about what constitutes a fair sandwich split.
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Have you ever noticed that ordering a footlong sandwich is like committing to a marathon? You stand there confidently at the counter, thinking, "I can do this, I'm in it for the long haul!" But by the end, you're just praying you don't hit a wall or develop a sandwich-induced cramp.
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You ever try eating a footlong sandwich while walking? It's like participating in a bizarre balancing act. One wrong move, and suddenly you're doing an impromptu interpretive dance with mustard stains as your artistic expression.
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I asked for a footlong with extra pickles, and they handed me what felt like a pickle skyscraper. I mean, I like pickles, but this was more of a pickle-themed architectural marvel than a sandwich topping. I had to eat around it like a pickle excavation.
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