The Great Sandwich Heist
Jerry had one rule in life: Never mess with his sandwiches.
Unfortunately, Jerry’s coworker, Steve, had no respect for rules, personal space, or clearly labeled food in the office fridge.
One fateful Tuesday, Jerry placed his ultimate sandwich in the fridge—a triple-layer turkey, bacon, avocado, extra cheese masterpiece. He even wrote “DO NOT TOUCH! – Jerry” on the bag.
At exactly 12:30 PM, Jerry skipped into the breakroom, ready to embrace his sandwich like a long-lost love. But it was gone.
Vanished.
Erased from existence.
“WHO TOOK MY SANDWICH?!” Jerry bellowed, flipping chairs and knocking over a Keurig machine.
The office fell silent. Everyone stared at Steve, who had suspicious crumbs on his shirt.
“Steve,” Jerry said, narrowing his eyes. “You wouldn’t have happened to see my sandwich, would you?”
Steve gulped. “Uh… maybe it got… raptured?”
Jerry grabbed Steve’s desk lamp and shone it directly in his face. “Confess, you monster.”
After 30 seconds of intense interrogation (which mostly involved Jerry slowly eating Steve’s emergency Snickers bar for revenge), Steve cracked.
“Okay, okay! I took it! But it looked so perfect! I thought the universe made it for ME!”
Jerry took a deep breath, then declared, “You, sir, have just declared war.”
The next day, Steve found his entire desk covered in peanut butter. His chair was wrapped in plastic wrap. His keyboard? Filled with jelly.
“Peanut butter and jelly?” Steve gasped.
Jerry smirked. “That’s right. Revenge is a dish best served with bread.”
The office erupted in laughter.
Steve never stole a sandwich again.
Moral of the story: Label your food—or face sandwich justice.
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How’s that? I can tweak it or make another if you want!