One thing you might not know about me is that I cannot eat an entire loaf of pumpernickel before it turns. And don't think I haven't tried.
The problem I have with bread is not so much that it is red and slimy and filled with worms, as none of those things are generally true, but that it comes in too wide a variety of flavors. I mean, do I really need a loaf of rye AND potato? How many pastrami sandwiches can I honestly consume before the rye goes bad? How many grilled cheeses? How many sandwiches, really, does one need? Why does sourdough smell of feline urine?
All fine questions, except maybe the last.
The answer, which does not at all apply to the previous questions, is that I cannot possibly justify buying an entire loaf of pumpernickel based on the fact that I like, maybe once a fortnight, a good tunafish sandwich. The rest of the loaf goes to waste, and waste I cannot suffer - why, it's the very reason I donate my used clothes, hair and finger nails to the naked, bald and limbless masses.
So here, then, is my proposition: bread variety packs. A mix-n-match, if you will. Just grab a handful at a time of four or five types of bread as it comes off the bread conveyor belt in Uganda (or wherever bread comes from) and bag the things up. Why, you'd make a mint, especially in this country. Excepting the Salvidor Dali painting by the same name, what could be more American than a melting pot of bread?
In closing, allow me to leave you with these choice words first made famous by Socrates just before the hemlock really kicked in: "Damno panis est coma iterum!" ("The damn bread is stale again!")

Regards,

The Ayatollah.
(Of Rock N' Rollah.)