Subway is now portraying themselves as purveyors of natural, wholesome sammiches. The ad agency must be banking on the American public forgetting all about their clients having used a material commonly found in yoga mats in their bread.  One can’t blame the ad agency, after all, they’re dealing with an American public which is generally thought to have the attention span of a caffeinated flea.

Loyal readers may recall this photo from a post I wrote about a woman being served sandwiches made from her own pooch. It's a bastardized Hardee's ad with no reference to yoga mats, Subway or memory. I forget why I put it in here.

Loyal readers may recall this photo from a post I wrote about a woman being served sandwiches made from her own pooch. It’s a bastardized Hardee’s ad with no reference to yoga mats, Subway or memory. I forget why I put it in here.

By the same token, I know people who haven’t been swimming in the ocean since seeing “Jaws” in 1976.  They just can’t forget about it.  If they dare to wade in past their ankles, they start hearing that music;  “Duhhhh-Dumm…duhhh-dumm…DUMM DUMM DUMM!”  Next thing you know, they’re back to baking themselves on the blanket and considering a walk up to the boardwalk to get some curly fries.  They may well have read about the risks of eating fried food and how getting sunburns is more dangerous to you than a great white, but they’ve conveniently forgotten about it.

Hey Moe! Curly Fries!! Nyuk nyuk nyuk!

Hey Moe! Curly Fries!! Nyuk nyuk nyuk!

I had a particularly unpleasant experience a couple of years ago.  Many of the perpetrators are no longer around, but still, I can’t forget about it.  Part of me knows that I need to let it go, but part of me is much more stubborn about it.  I tell myself that never forgetting will allow me to keep my defenses up and avoid ever having to deal with any such witch hunt again.  My logic may be well intentioned, but I wonder sometimes if I’ll be sitting in a rocking chair at Sunnyvale Convalescent Care someday rambling on about it to some poor soul who thinks Nixon is in the white house.

Yes it's a real crown. I'm the damn king of this stinky nursing home!

Yes it’s a real crown. I’m the damn king of this stinky nursing home!

I had a great idea of how I could wrap this post up in a neat little somewhat humorous bow, but true to form, I forgot it.  I do still recall the jingle of a commercial for the International House of Pancakes from the early 70’s, but that doesn’t really help me just now. If the ending comes to me, I’ll try to remember to put it in the comments section below.

 

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