I’ve got to say it’s actually quite nice down here, especially if you like things beginning with the letter “s.” There are sea horses, starfish, stingrays, sand, shipwrecks, and a sign saying 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. I could be wrong, but unless I’m very much mistaken—and I don’t think I am—it looks as if we are …
TWENTY THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA!!!
Like I said, it’s quite nice down here. The only problem is that I don’t think I can hold my breath for much longer.
I’m not worried, though, because I’ve got a plan. Well, when I say “plan,” I mean sandwich. And when I say “sandwich,” I mean submarine.
Yes, you read that right. I’ve got a submarine sandwich from our submarine sandwich shop. And what you probably don’t realize about these sandwiches is that they not only look like submarines, they work like submarines, too! Check it out!
We climb aboard the submarine sandwich, and I make my way to the control deck.
The others join me …
and I set a course for the surface, twenty thousand leagues above.
“Thanks, Andy,” says Terry. “Your submarine-size submarine sandwich saved our lives!”
“It sure did,” says Jill. “Where did you get it from?”
“From our submarine-size submarine sandwich shop, of course!” I explain. “The sandwiches are so big, it takes me a couple of weeks to eat them. So I keep them in my pocket and just pull them out whenever I’m hungry. Or whenever I find myself deep underwater.”
“I’m kind of disgusted and kind of glad at the same time,” says Jill.
“I’m glad, too,” says Albert. “I’ve always wanted to ride in a submarine.”
“And I’ve always wanted to ride in a sandwich,” says Alice.
“Goo-goo gah-gah,” says the baby.
“This reminds me of that song,” says Terry. “You know, the one about a sandwich submarine!”
“Do you mean ‘Rock Around the Sandwich Submarine’?” I say.
“No,” says Terry.
“‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Sandwich Submarine’?” I say.
“No, that’s not it, either,” says Terry.
“What about ‘We All Live in a Sandwich Submarine’?” says Jill. “That always tops any list of top ten songs about sandwich submarines.”
“Yes! That’s the one!” says Terry. “How does it go again?”
“Like this!” says Jill, and she starts singing:
“We all live in a sandwich submarine,
a sandwich submarine,
a sandwich submarine…”
The rest of us join in:
“We all live in a sandwich submarine,
a sandwich submarine,
a sandwich submarine…”
“Hey, Andy,” says Terry. “This is a really fun ride and I don’t want to complain, but it’s getting really soggy in here! My feet are sinking into the floor.”
“So are mine,” says Jill.
“The submarine must have sprung a leak,” I say. “But I don’t know how. Submarine-sandwich bread is supposed to be 100 percent waterproof.”
“I think I’ve found the problem,” says Jill, pointing to the deck below. “The children are eating the submarine!”
“Hey, stop that!” I say.
“But we’re hungry,” says Alice.
“And it tastes really good,” says Albert.
“I know,” I say, “but it’s also a submarine, and you don’t eat a submarine that you’re traveling in! Everybody knows that!”
“I don’t think everybody would know that,” says Jill. “It’s an easy mistake to make. We should probably all put on emergency life jackets. Where are they kept?”
“I don’t think there are any,” I say.
“What about emergency lifeboats?” says Jill. “Does it have any of those?”
“No,” I say. “I don’t think so.”
“Does it have emergency anything?” says Jill.
“It’s got emergency pickles,” says Terry, holding up a jar.
“What’s the use of that?” says Jill. “Nobody likes pickles. They’re the bits you take out of your sandwich.”
“What about your emergency automatic self-inflating underpants, Terry?” says Albert. “Are you wearing them?”
“As a matter of fact, I am,” says Terry.
“Then how come they didn’t inflate when you fell in the whirlpool?” I say.
“Because I haven’t got them turned on,” says Terry. “They kept inflating when it wasn’t an emergency, and it was a bit embarrassing, so I turned them off.”
“Can you still activate them?” I say.
“Yes,” says Terry. “I can operate them manually.”
“Well, what are we waiting for?” I say. “Everybody hang on to Terry. We’ll be on the surface in no time.”
We all grab hold of Terry.
“Everybody ready?” he says.
We all nod.
“All right then,” he says. “Here we go—three, two, one, blast off!”
It’s a wild ride, but within seconds we are all floating around on the surface of the sea using Terry’s emergency self-inflating underpants as a life raft.
“Yay!” says Alice. “That was fun!”
“Let’s do it again!” says Albert.
“No way!” I say. “We’ve got to start paddling.”
“But there’s nowhere to paddle to,” says Alice.
“Yes there is,” says Jill. “Look—over there! A desert island!”
“Goody!” says Albert. “I love desert islands!”
“Me too!” says Terry.
“Goo-goo gah-gah,” says the baby.
