This is an age-old tale. Young man eats perfect sammitch. Young man looses sammitch. Young man continues to search for a sammitch that is as good as his perfect sammitch. This all took place on a wonderful August weekend that Flipperson referred to in his story last week, "Sometimes, It's Bad". It was a friend's wedding in Windsor, Ont. It was a hot and humid night. The air was thick and stinky. The stinkiness came from "Stink Town", aka Detroit, MI. The stink crossed the river like a fat unwashed uncle reaching across to grab the Jell-O with his armpit in your face. Keep that pit there 24-7, and you've got "Stink Town". The wedding was nice, but we were late and walked in just before the Bride. We opened the door and every one was expecting the bride. We stumbled in, drunk and sweaty and sat at the back.

Later at the reception, there was enough booze to beer goggle us into impregnating a hutterite colony. Many rookie booze mistakes were made on this night. I believe the order was beer to wine to gin to southern comfort to beer to rye whisky to bed. Upon waking, I realized what a mistake I had made, and my two roommates also realized their boozy mistakes. My head was pounding, my stomach was turning, my legs where weak, our room was a mess, and we stunk. We had to get up, clean ourselves up, pack up, and have the embarrassment of paying for the crappy porno we rented in our drunken mayhem.

Walking out of the hotel, the stink slapped us in the face like little Timmy's poopy diapers. I was not feeling any better. Even my balls started to hurt and the sunshine burned my eyes like holy water. My body was begging for more booze, but my head said "NO! A sports drink is the answer." We walked a few blocks and purchased a nice cool drink. Each of us drank the refreshing drink. "Yum that does feel better." Feeling much better, we decided to have lunch before we tried to make our way through Detroit on our way back home.

We are from a small city in western Canada. It has the highest murder rate per capita in Canada, but still only a couple of murders a year. We get our cable from Detroit. Every day on the news from "Stink Town" is murder this, crack house that, explosion here, bad person does this. To us, it is the most dangerous city in the world and I was told there is no real Robocop. We did see the Robocop OCP building, which was cool.

We stopped at a deli a few blocks from our hotel. It was a classic deli. The waitress looked like an angel, the old guy behind the counter looked like Mel from Mel's Dinner on the old TV show, and there were pictures of all kinds of smiling celebrities on the walls. You know; the 8 by 10 black and white head shots. They are all like little angels smiling their big toothy grins. My brain starts to tell me, "Hey jack ass. They're laugh'n at you." "No they're not" I mumble under my breath. My friends ask me, "What?" "Nothing, its ok." The waitress comes over and asks us what we want. My two pals order and then it is my turn. "A ham sandwich please"

Now here is where I started to feel good. Mel from the back of the Diner yells "A ham sandwich, Who ordered this?" I slowly put up my hand. "What kind of bread; white, brown?" "Brown", I say. You want cheese on that?" "Yes, cheddar please", I start to feel even better. "Lettuce?" "Yes." "Mustard?" "Yes." "Mayo?" "Yes." With every question my stomach and brain began to feel better. I was on top of the world. The sammitch came to the table. I will never forget it. It was cut diagonally, the lettuce was flowing out like big boobs in a puny bra, and every thing was perfect. This was the perfect sandwich. Every bite was better then the last. It was like a ham, bread, lettuce, mustard, mayo, and bread orgy in my mouth and no one else was invited.