... When I walked into the kitchen, he was pulling coleslaw, cheese, ketchup, mustard, pickles(he only bothered to use the juice), milk(yes, he drenched the sandwich in milk) and butter out of the fridge. He stuck all that in between wheat bread, and poured a pile of salt on it. He looked at me, and without using correct grammar, he said this to me in the exact way I'm about to write it:
"Uncle [insert my name here], I maked you a samwich"
He put a lot if effort into it. He even made sure he put the bread in evenly, so I would have felt to bad if I had said no to eating the sandwich

This. Thankfully, I'm not the one who had to eat it! Sorry KoB, between the rotten fish and your nephew's sandwich this just hasn't been your month!