Manwiches are so timeless. Meat, cheese, lighter colored meat, sharper cheese. More meats. Oh look! Tomato slices. Another additional piece of meat. Enhanced with a lettuce leaf for that aesthetic appeal. Bookended by two bread slices extracted from an oblong loaf, generously smeared with condiment. Walah. A Thanksgiving meal for a malnourished family in Uzbeskistan. But for you and your sandwichscraper aficionados, it is lunch.
The manwich of yesteryear most likely equates to the foot-long hoagie offered by today's submarine sandwich corporations. commonly priced at one easy payment of five dollars. The five dollar bill, the piece of national currency that is gracefully adorned with the stoic profile of the late president Abraham Lincoln. Coincidentally, upon freeing all but one of the slaves in the United States, Honest Abe made the slave prepare him an "Emancipation Proclaimanwich."
It cannot be denied that there is something so hypermasculine about groping a manwich, then conveying it towards mouth. Dad enjoyed a manwich. Grandpa enjoyed a manwich. And grandma had damn well better have known how to assemble a manwich on a moment's notice, lest she be subjected to a firm slap on the derriere, then ordered to vacuum the entire house, then dust the liquor cabinet.
Kudos to Michelob, teaming up with Manwiches of the world, to create a powerful midday alliance. I reckon this advertisement was devised over lunch, on the day preceding a Groupon deal at the local deli. It is indeed a first class meal. Granted the small plate supporting this "leaning tower of meet and cheesa" certainly helps this particular sandwich image "pop", you would still need at least a miniature samurai sword to slice it properly, not to mention a small infantry of toothpicks. I for one would not be picky as to what beverage I knocked back as a means to washing down this mother effing manwich, yet it is comforting to know that Michelob has my back in my most robust of noonday pleasures.
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