So, I came home from work the other night and it was like 9:30 in the PM or something like that.
I got in the house and I was pretty hungry, but Grace had already eaten, so I was on my own.
I decided I was going to make myself a Gobbler.
For those who aren’t in the know, the Gobbler is probably the single greatest sammitch of all-time.
It goes by a gajillion other names: “The Day After Thanksgiving Sammitch,” “The Pilgrim,” “The Mayflower,” and “Leftover Sammitch,” amongst others.
The long and short of it is that it’s a sammitch filled with turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce.
Additionally, it’s F-ing amazing. Like seriously, I would trade my good friend Mike Kunkel’s first-born child (which had better pop out before my freakin’ birthday!! I refuse to share!!) for a Gobbler right now.
To make the Gobbler, I boiled some water and threw in a box of Stove Top stuffing.
While that was “cooking,” I attempted to open up a can of cranberry sauce.
Unfortunately, our can-opener is on its last legs and barely cracked the top of the can.
As such, I was forced to improvise.
I stuck a knife into the tiny hole I’d created and tried to—um—saw my way through the top of the can and that worked marginally well for a little bit.
I then tried the can-opener again and got about half of the can sawed into pretty well, before I resorted to the good ole fashioned “man method.”
The “man method” pretty much just entailed me swearing a lot and trying to use brute force in a situation where it was completely impractical to do so.
As one would expect, it is completely pointless to attempt to “rip a can open” using your brute strength.
Yet that’s exactly what I tried to do for—well—longer than I’m proud to admit, and then I decided to revert back to my old, drastically less manly—yet for less-retarded—methods of can-opening.
Eventually, with more off-and-on can-openering and sawing with a knife, I got it about three-quarters of the way and I decided to stick a fork under the lid and just pry off the top.
At this point the lid eventually popped, but I got cranberry sauce all over the kitchen ceiling.
Within seconds of successfully opening the can—and spraying my ceiling with an unnatural (yet yummy) viscous goo—I remembered the stuffing and went to stir it, before it turned into one big ball of gross mush.
Only it had started to boil over, so I quickly lifted it off the stove and started stirring, only to send stuffing flying everywhere, including—somehow—down my shirt.
The stuffing that had found its way into my shirt eventually slid down and into my (apparently far too baggy) pants, and from there it eventually settled into my undies.
How?! I don’t freakin’ know, but it did and, believe-you-me, there are few things more awkward than having stuffing in your underoos.
After ducking into the bathroom to dispose of the stuffing and cleaning the cranberry off the ceiling, I assumed it would be clear sailing. Like seriously, what else could go wrong at the point, right?!
Well, in lieu of gravy, the Gobbler is made with mayo.
We were running low on mayo, so I had to shake and shake and shake the squeezy-mer-bobber to get any to come out.
Only, the lid apparently wasn’t shut tight enough and while I was shaking, mayo launched out of the squeezy-mer-bobber and all over the kitchen sink, the wall behind the sink, and the drying rack for the dishes.
In the end, I got my Gobbler, but I gotta be honest, if a dude can’t make a simple sammitch without spraying his ceiling with cranberry, get a crotch-full of stuffing, and splattering his kitchen with mayo…is it really worth it?!
I vote no.
From here on out, if I come home late, I’ll just have a bowl of Trix and call it good.