Open Letter Vol. 1

Dear Craft Services,

Just wanted to drop you a wee note regarding your selection of sandwiches made available at darkened lonely outposts located throughout the campus. I must say that I am dismayed, nay, appalled at witnessing the battalion of cheese sandwiches huddled together like abandoned Bosnian orphans on the Refridge-O-Shelf. Now, I don't expect catering quality that could rival any high-end eatery. Fuck no. However, I expect it to be a notch or two above "Prison Approved". And fucking cheese sandwiches? No one will touch that. Any dipshit on angel dust can slap together a cheese sarnie. Albeit, one that was covered with blood and torn hair, but I digress. My point is that it is do-able. By ANYONE. So dispense with shit that any pre-schooler with a metal plate embedded in his/her underdeveloped skull can accomplish and bring on some fucking decent sandwiches. While you're at it, knock off that pretentious bullshit. You know what I'm talking about. Enough with the pesto, the basil and the liberal smattering of feta. If I want to feel continental, I'll pay for a Latvian hooker. 'Nuff said.

Much love,

A Snackroom Dictator