Whether as a delicious treat or a session full of funky fresh beats, jam is the ultimate champion. There are strawberry jams, cherry jams, apricot jams, sick jams, groovy jams, suave jams, jams for all occasions.
Jam is a dignified breakfast spread upon which kings and gods feast, because everyone understands how holy a good jam is, blessing the breakfast table with its beauty. Jam is so beautiful that if this were one of those weird Miss Universe beauty contests — which are uncomfortably objectifying, demeaning, and horrifically sexist — jam would easily win the swimsuit section.
The sweet treat also reminds you of your even sweeter gran. Do you remember the last time she made you a big jar of strawberry jam? Your grandmother still makes you jam because even though you’re an ungrateful git who doesn’t visit often enough, she still loves you enough to bestow such a gift upon you. Now, go eat some fucking jam and call your grandmother.
Boohoo: Peanut Butter
Peanut butter is a nut butter. Honestly, the term “nut butter” is too much for my immature self. While all of you continue slathering your breakfast goods in the butter of nuts, I’ll seek a more civilized meal with fewer genitalia references.
Peanut butter is also highly suspicious because it comes in too many forms. Crunchy, smooth, unsalted, stir, no stir, natural, creamy; if this were the 1500s, we would’ve burned peanut butter at the stake because of its suspicious, witch-like shape-shifting. Too bad this isn’t the 1500s.
Additionally, the peanut is a flimsy fucking nut. Think about the sheer quality of the hazelnut: beauty, grace, boldness, and brilliance. Now compare that to that shit stain, the peanut. The peanut peevishly sits in its clumsy shell, desperate to keep people believing its lie. That’s right. Peanuts aren’t even nuts. They’re legumes. How can you put your trust in such an unfaithful breakfast spread?