Help me get my muffin (and fight cancer)

I'm here today to appeal to your sense of justice and fair play and good ol' doing the right thing. I have been insulted, wronged, besmirched, defamed and deprived of my just desserts...and I mean that last one literally.

Some background:

• http://www.yborbunker.com/ is easily my favorite hangout in all of Tampa. I love everything about the place.
• Tre Amici @ The Bunker in Ybor City recently named a sandwich ("The Hampton") after T. Hampton Dohrman, a regular customer.
• Tre Amici @ The Bunker has named nothing after me, also a regular customer who is bigger than T. Hampton Dohrman.
• This is T. Hampton Dohrman: "A musician-turned-accountant-turned-social-entrepreneur, Hampton works tirelessly to promote growth within the arts and cultural communities of Tampa Bay. At only 27, he has been lauded by alt-weekly newspaper Creative Loafing as an “inexhaustibly creative mind” and a “cultural crusader.” His work has already made a significant impact on the arts community." (from his bio at WEDU's "Be More" awards page, an honor for which he has been nominated and for which you can cast your vote right here) 
• This is me: I write this blog.

In short, where the hell is my sandwich?

This was the question I posed to the proprietor, a Ms. Jessie Stehlik, via telephone call:
"WHERE THE HELL IS MY SANDWICH?"
"Okay, for starters do not yell at me."
"I AM NOT YELLING. I AM SPEAKING. SPEAKING THROUGH A BULLHORN, A HAND-HELD DEVICE THAT AMPLIFIES A PERSON'S VOICE. YELLING THROUGH IT IS NOT ONLY UNNECESSARY BUT COUNTER-PRODUCTIVE, AS IT DISTORTS THE SOUND, WHICH BASICALLY DEFEATS ANY REASONABLE PURPOSE OF AMPLIFYING ONE'S VOICE."
"Whatever it is, knock it off. Right now and I'm not kidding."
"I WILL NOT BE SILENCED! ARE YOU PREPARED TO HEAR MY GRIEVANCES?"
"I am prepared to hang up on you."
"I'LL TURN IT...OOPS, HOLd on...okay, I turned it off."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. Now, where the hell is my sandwich?"
"Did you order a sandwich? I've told you a dozen times we don't deliver."
"No, I didn't order a sandwich. You wanna know why? Because I don't have a sandwich of my very own, like Hambone does (NOTE: I frequently refer to T. Hampton Dohrman 'Hambone'. I'm pretty sure he does not know this. Please do not tell him.). If I did, then I'd order it."
"Oh, you should try it! It's delicious!"
"There are limits to what I will or will not do--"
"I have yet to see any evidence of that being even remotely true--"
"I will not eat another man's sandwich! But you know what? I was down there today, and so was Hambone and he wasn't even eating his own sandwich! What the hell is that? You name a sandwich after the guy just so he can walk up to the counter and say, what, 'oh, yeah, my very own sandwich...no thanks...I'll have something else today'? I mean, what the hell is that?!?"
"Would you like a sandwich named after you?"
"Yes!"
"No."
"..."
"How about a muffin?"
"A muffin?!? Hell no, I don't want some damn...what kind of muffin?"
"I don't know. We could come up with something. We should talk about it."
"All right. I'm going down there tomorrow. And I'm bringing the bullhorn."
"Oh please don't bring the--"
"Hey, let me ask you something; does this sound like I'm hanging up? "



I showed up there this morning...yes, I brought the bullhorn. And a protest sign.

"I'm not getting out of the car if you start yelling at me again through that thing."
"I explained to you yesterday how it works and that one doesn't yell into it. Besides, I left it on last night and the batteries are dead."
"Okay, good."
"Yeah, whatever. So about my muffin...what's up?"
"I thought about your muffin last night--"
"(giggling) I bet you did!"
"Stop it or I'm getting back in the car. I thought about...this muffin situation and I'm not sure I can justify naming one after you, just because you want one."
"What?!? Why not?"
"I think there should be a good reason."
"You just listed one: because I want it!"
"How is that a good reason?"
"This is a reneg, that's what this is! Classic muffin reneg! You're lucky my bullhorn isn't working. I'd be yelling 'Reneggers! Reneggers! Bunch of no-good reneggers!' so the whole neighborhood could hear it."
"You're going to be really glad later that didn't happen."
"This is so unfair!"
"Listen, I'm not saying no. I just think there should be some justification. I think it should be tied to some act of good and not just to appease your sad, selfish desire for attention."

I'll skip what happened next because it wasn't really all that interesting. Just some back-and-forth negotiation and brainstorming The end result of which is that the naming of the Clark Muffin at Tre Amici @ The Bunker is a full-on, green light, go. With one condition; that my campaign to raise funds for Relay For Life this year meets or exceeds a total of $1500. Is this buying my way into immortality-via-baked-good? Not really, as I won't be paying that sum: I'm going to lean on you people to do it!

So officially, starting right now, I am hereby kicking off my 2011 Relay For Life (and name a muffin after me) campaign! 

In case you don't know how this works, it's simple. You can make a donation via my page on the American Cancer Society's secure web site right here. If you'd prefer to send a check, that's fine too. Any amount you can spare is great, because every little bit helps. I'll take anything I can get. Absolutely 100% of it goes directly to the American Cancer Society. Additionally, there will be a donation bucket at Tre Amici @ The Bunker (it's in their best interest for this to be a success too, trust me) and lots and lots and lots of updates and stuff (including but not limited to emails, phone calls and text messages to some of you lucky, lucky people) over the coming weeks.

So please help me. You know I'm serious about defeating cancer. You know I'm serious about sweet and/or savory baked treats. You know I've never really expressed interest one way or another about having stuff named after me before, but I'm more than willing to be into it for the sake of a good cause. Let's make it happen!

My negotiating skills are not to be underestimated.