Call Me Jack

I have always suspected that if I were in Lord of the Flies I would have joined that savage hunters in a heartbeat. It is ten in the moringing and I am starving because I haven't eaten for three and a half hours--there is this Cuban deli across the street that has a roast pork sandwich where they ladel the garlic infused juices all over your sandwhich so it rolls off of the pork and soaks into the bagel--slap a slice of cheese and slather the top slice in mayo...ohhhhhhhh, that's a sandwhich! But it's never ready until after 11am, so I have to wait. I know that I would have snapped after one missed meal on a deserted island. Civilized? I would have gone native in five hours tops. Maybe, just maybe, I could have made it a couple of meals on fruit, and some fish or crab would have been great for a while, but the moment I got homesick for one of these sandwiches, I would have been fashioning a spear on my way down the game trail. I know it sounds a bit extreme, but I'm starving, and the sandwich is calling me. It think that's what they heard in the jungle, something primal and innate calling from the dark depths of instinct. And if some chubby kid with "asmar" gets in between my sandwich and me, I will not hesitate to drop a large boulder on his head, regardless of what he has to say about it, conch or no.