Eggman was sitting in his kitchen, happily making a sandwich. It was perfect: bacon, fried eggs, tomatoes, lettuce, mayo, mustard, pepperoni, Swiss cheese, cheddar cheese, ketchup, thousand island dressing, olive oil, cucumbers, ham, turkey, meatballs, and some orange tic tacs for zip, all nestled between two pieces of warm, breaded chicken. Eggman was simply at peace. There was no obnoxious blue hedgehog to ruin his day…no bills to pay…no robots to discipline. He hadn't felt this happy since the day his Snuggie came in the mail.

Suddenly there were footsteps.

"Now, everyone stay with the group! Remember to follow the flag I'm holding!" A throng of chattering people shuffled eagerly behind a guy in a T-shirt that said "Awesome Tours". He was holding aloft a red and white cloth on a stick that looked suspiciously like Eggman's favorite lobster-eating bib.

"We are now inside the base of the evil Dr. Eggman!" said the guy with the stick.

Wait…how the hell had they gotten…

"Ooooohhhh…." A ton of cameras flashed.

"Oh! And what a surprise! Look, everyone! The evil Dr. Eggman himself is here!"

There were more flashes and numerous mentions of Facebook.

"WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON MY BASE!" roared Eggman. The flashes only intensified.

"Dr. Eggman weighs 282 pounds, is over the age of 50, and eats about 7,000 calories per day," said the stick holding person, as if Eggman couldn't hear. By now, many of the uninvited guests were tapping wildly on their touch-screen phones.

"But Dr. Eggman doesn't suffer diabetes and has never had a heart attack or stroke. What we have here, ladies and gentlemen, is one of the most fascinating medical mysteries of our- "

"I'm RIGHT HERE, you twits!"

Why did these people have to show up in the middle of his greatest sandwich creation ever?

"Can I touch him?" asked a small child.

"HELL, NO!" screamed Eggman, his sandwich still in hand. If all of this ruckus was going to cause even one of the little tic-tacs he had so meticulously lined up under the cheese to fall out of place, they were SO going to get it.

"No, of course not! If you touch him, you might catch the fatso."


Eggman wondered what the hell the 'fatso' was, but he didn't say anything. By now, all he wanted to do was take another bite of sandwich. He hoped that it would all end already.

"Aaahhh…" said the kid, disappointed.

"But don't worry! You can use this 11 foot pole to poke the Eggman."

"Awesome!" The kid got down to business.

"Hey! Stop that!" Eggman wanted to grab the little brat by the hair and throw him across the room. But he knew very well that in this day and age, a single touch could get him sued for child molestation. And he didn't want to set down his awesome sandwich. If your hands have the privilege of holding the food of the gods, you don't just set it down because some stupid kid is poking you with a stick.

"Does anybody have any questions about the fatso?"

"Why is he so fat?" asked a girl.

"I'm not fat!"

"It's a feature peculiar to the species," said the tour guide. "You see, if you unbutton his pants and- ah, never mind! Follow the flag, everyone! It's time for the next part of Eggman's base!"

"YAY!" screamed the camera-carrying crowd.

"The passage we are now approaching, ladies and gentlemen, is called a hallway. It comes from the Icelandic word haaalwye, which was first used to describe mating pelicans when..."

Eggman wanted to blow off that tour guide's head, but he wasn't done with his sandwich. It would be a disgrace to his Sandwich Lover's Club membership…to the sandwich universe, for that matter, if he stopped now just because of a few uninvited guests.

"This is a floor, everyone! It's made of metal, just like microwave safe bowls," said the tour guide from the other room. Eggman heard more camera snaps.

"And this is a ceiling, also metal. This particular variety may become hot in the microwave, however."

"Can I carve my name on the wall?" someone asked.

"Of course!" said the tour guide happily. "Here, everybody take a knife and get started!"

Eggman couldn't take it any longer. He had to stop them, even if it meant leaving his edible masterpiece behind. So he ran, if you could call in running (more like walking quickly while jiggling), into the hallway just in time to stop the first knife from defacing his property.

Eggman was about to scream a myriad of things that would make this story "M" rated when the president of the Sandwich Lover's Club appeared in the room.


"Sir, there were tourists-"

"And you dare call yourself a member of the Sandwich Lover's Club!"

"With knives…and something about mating pelicans-"

"There is NO excuse for leaving a two-pieces-of-chicken sandwich uneaten!"

"I'm sorry-"

"Your membership in the Sandwich Lover's Club has been terminated. Permanently."


"Now all of your unworthy meals will taste like the SHAME you brought upon the Sandwich Lover's Club! IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED?"

"I'm sorry! I love sandwiches-"

"Be gone, unholy sandwich abandoner!"

"But I live here."

"Oh, then I shall be gone." The president of the Sandwich Lover's Club disappeared as strangely as he had come in the first place.

"Now, everybody, on with the tour! For our next stop, I'm handing out spray paint!"

Eggman felt like crying.


This is probably the stupidest story ever. I just wanted Eggman to be attacked by tourist. And is there even a Sandwich Lover's Club? If there is I so want in. Do you guys think I should continue this story? Maybe the tourist could visit Angel Island to annoy the crap out of Knuckles. Tell me in a review, and send my editor/awesome sister, Nicole, some love.

Editor's note: If my sister wants any more free labor, she has to buy me a certain hat from Hot Topic.