Beating up the National Guard for pants.

Stereotypes came true last night.

But, first off, let’s talk about Fat Sandwich Company. I guess it’s new to Norman and my first experience with it was also Matt’s. Lemme tell you what they consider a sandwich. Hamburger. Cheese sticks. Chicken Strips. Bacon. Mac and Chesse bites. Cheese whiz. Anything. You name it, they will put it on a sandwich. The one I really remember was the Fat Bleu, which was chicken strips, ham, cheese sticks, and honey mustard. I believe the only Matt got combined all of the ingredients I listed above. Plus an egg.

Also, it matters not what sandwich you order. All sandwiches have fries inside of them. It made me long for disaster burrito.

Also, the staff is exactly what you would think. Stoners. Who take forever to write down an order. Hey, this is COMPLICATED duuuude.

I played it safe and went with the breakfast sandwich. But, seriously, looking at the menu terrified everyone in our late night dinner posse. It was a heart attack.

Here’s my cute, little breakfast sandwich: sausage, egg, cheese and hashbrowns.



And here’s Matts. At many angles.




He finished it! His prize: near-vomit.


The thing about this place is it’s on “college corner.” So, basically, it’s surrounded by lots of trendy college bars. You can imagine their typical crowd, around the time the bars close. It’s easy, just think Frontier without the security and a little more Arian.

I went to Fat Sandwich Company with Matt and his friends Chelsey and Suzanne. We notice this complete bro walk in, shaved head, about 6 foot 5, wearing this shirt that has a gift tag on it that says “To: Women, From: God”, cut off jean shorts that were a little too tight, and some fantastic Air Jordans, circa 1992. So, let’s just say this man has no business commenting on fashion.

This woman walks in, looking a little tired, wearing camo pants. She walked up to God’s Gift to Women’s table at random and asks, very politely, not an ounce of cruelty or meanness to it, “Excuse, do you know what time it is.

As loudly as he can, God’s Gift to Women answers, “Time for you to get some new fucking pants!”

The woman handles it well. “Oh really, why? You don’t like camoflague? These are authentic army pants.”

“No, I like it. I have a pair of camo shorts. They’re the real thing too. I beat the fuck outta some pussy in the national guard for them!”

I start laughing my ass off. Mostly because I seriously cannot believe that’s even really happening. But, no this guy was serious.
“You beat up someone in the National Guard?”

“Fuck yes, I did. YEAH!”

“Why?”

“Because he was a fucking pussy and I could!”

“I’d like to see you try to beat up the man who these belonged to.”

“Bring him in here! I’ll go right now! I’ll fucking take anyone!”

He continues talking about how he beat the fuck outta this pussy and he’ll kill anyone, blah, blah, blah. The poor lady holds her ground, but just gets so frustrated at this tard, that she just walks out, without ever finding out the time. God’s Gift to Women thinks it’s amazing, high five-ing his fellow bros.

Really. I’m not kidding. I didn’t make a piece of that up. I had NO idea that people like that even existed. I am stunned. I don’t care how drunk he was, once I was done with my shock-laughter, I wanted to curb stomp him. I would have Xena-charged him, in honor of Maria (who I'm sure could have completely demolished him).

Ladies and gentleman, the worst of Oklahoma. Why would I ever consider living here? Well, that comes later.