Author: The Good Mod Addict
Granz was in the kitchen.

He, being a stereotypical teenaged-to-early-twenties male, was hungry. He was also too lazy to properly cook something like chicken or pasta. No, snacking would have to do for him this fine afternoon.

He got out his favorite ice cream from the freezer; he'd have to put in on the grocery list soon, it was almost out. It was then that he was struck by an Idea. A crazy, food-based Idea. Granz watched his trembling hands open the fridge, almost of their own accord, and pull out various ingredients. Ham. Cheese. Lettuce. And, of course, bread.

He proceeded to make the sandwich of his dreams. He could see it in his mind: the moist ham separated from the fluffy bread by the gorgeous pale cheese and the fresh lettuce. The ice cream, forgotten, began to melt in its tub; the frost on the outside glistened in the early afternoon light, a sight that escaped Granz. He had a mission, and nothing was going to stop him from having the sandwich of his dreams, even if those dreams were born all of five minutes ago. As the last slice of bread was placed upon the top of the glorious sandwich, something happened Granz could never quite believe.

"Fiiinaaallly," the sandwich said in his mind. "You wouldn't believe how good it feels to exist again, mate."

Granz stood, mouth agape, staring at the sandwich. Psandwich? "Wait, what--what just happened?" he asked, struggling to process that his lunch was speaking to him.

"Isn't it obvious that I was talking to you?" the psandwich snapped. "I swear, people can't seem to understand the concept of a psychic sandwich anymore!" Granz's stomach rumbled at the mention of the word "sandwich."

He needed lunch.

He needed that sandwich.

But he couldn't shake one question from his mind.

"So, if... you're a sentient sandwich... do you have a name?" Granz asked.

There was a pause. It stretched on and on like a rubber band that stretched. The superpowered sandwich had rarely, in its previous existences, been asked its name. Indeed, it had been so long, such a title was nearly forgotten; and here was a person, asking him with those lips, what his name was. Like most rubber bands being stretched, the silence was eventually broken.

"... Larfen J. Stocke, Esquire," the sandwich finally replied. Granz noticed a drop of water from the lettuce fall onto the plate, shining like the most beautiful diamond in the world.

"'Esquire'?" Granz asked. "How does a sandwich get a law degree?"

"OI, do I sound American to you, mate?!" Larfen roared. "It doesn't mean anything! Can you imagine a sandwich in a courthouse? They'd eat me alive in there!" The psandwich chuckled at its own joke.

"Yes, uhm," Granz began, "about eating... I need to have lunch, and... well..."

If a sandwich could nod, Larfen would have. "I figured as much. Just make another sandwich, I'll transfer to it then you can eat this one. Or just eat the other sandwich, but where's the fun in that?"

Granz nodded before noticing the ice cream, now almost completely melted. One of his dogs was standing next to him, begging for the ice cream or for Larfen, it was impossible to tell. Granz shooed the dog away and put the ice cream back in the freezer. He started making another sandwich.
Granz stepped away from his second culinary creation, wiping his brow in a suitably dramatic fashion. It was a near-perfect replica of Larfen, though Granz had opted to use slightly less mayonnaise this time at Larfen's request ("It just feels weird with so much egg and fat, y'know?").

Larfen hopped in place, rotating a bit to get a better look at what would soon be his new body. The thick slice of cheese sat upon the lettuce comfortably, and the scrumptious ham existed in a mouth-wateringly delicious and tantalizing manner that couldn't be accurately described in mere words. Larfen was pleased, very pleased indeed. There was only one problem.

"I, ah... can't do it if you're watching," Larfen said. His tomato seemed to turn an even deeper red. "Sorry, mate, but could you... go away for a bit? Just a minute or so." Granz readily agreed for reasons of his own.

Granz walked up the stairs and into his room to change clothes. He would have a proper lunch rather than a mere snack. And a proper lunch, for Granz, wouldn't be proper at all without a proper dining corset.

A proper dining corset, for those not knowledgeable about such things, had to be flashy. This particular corset had horizontal, zig-zagging stripes in black and gold throughout, and the whole thing glittered in the light as if it had sequins or even gems threaded throughout it.

For good measure, the outfit also incorporated shoulder pads into its design for a more square look. This was not a mere dining corset, but the greatest dining corset one could lay eyes on.

Granz smiled at the corset, and began tugging at the straps and performing the contortions necessary to put it on, an act that would be all but impossible for a normal person.


Meanwhile, Larfen was still looking at his future self. What would his new body be like? It looked fine, but all it took was a small piece of gristle in the ham or a too-squishy tomato slice to utterly ruin it. And what the heck was Granz doing to grunt so loudly and repeatedly from upstairs?

Focus, Larf, Larfen thought to himself. He took the sandwich equivalent of a few deep breaths and tried to tune out the groaning above him. For a second, he felt nothing; then there was a feeling of being squeezed far more tightly than comfortable, then a moment of terrifying unconsciousness. Of course, it was only terrifying on the other side, but a description of the complex mechanisms of consciousness must be left for another time; Granz was descending the staircase in his stunning dining corset.

"Oho! I'm impressed, mate; I didn't know you owned such a fine dining corset," Larfen called. Granz beamed back at his sandwich.

"Are you finished with what you needed to do?" Granz asked.

"Yep, now let's have lunch."

Granz carried the plate with his sandwich on it, carrying Larfen on a plate in his other hand. The corset was tight; eating would be a challenge. That was, of course, the entire point of a dining corset. Granz wasn't too worried, however; he had eaten dozens of lunches in this outfit. He set down the plates and picked up his sandwich, admiring the way the light filtered through the lettuce before taking a bite.

Flavor exploded across his tongue, enhanced by his teenaged-to-early-twenties hunger. It was exquisite. Granz closed his eyes to savor it for a moment before swallowing. He took a swallow of a generic drink and sighed.

"Ohh myyyy," Larfen said. "I'm that good, am I?"

"Better," Granz said with another sigh, his hunger clearly taking control once more.