Inspired by Dean:

I was almost purring as I reached for the peanut butter jar. I have to limit carbs, so this was going to be a treat. I grabbed a huge slab of peanut butter with my knife, and took a meditative moment to admire the big nut chunks bulging from this little mountain of goodness. I felt the pheromones flood by bloodstream as I slowly, sensuously lathered. The crunch under the strain of the knife and the thick layer of peanut butter excited me even more. Finally convinced I couldn’t possibly fit any more on this toast, I put the knife down and brought this glorious thing up to my mouth.

But as I brought up my other hand to clean the drool from my mouth, I lost control. I jabbed desperately trying to catch my masterpiece, but grasped only air. It landed face down, square in the middle of the kitchen linoleum. I instantly regretted that I hadn’t mopped the kitchen floor for months.

At this point, it felt entirely appropriate to drop to my knees and scream, “Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo!”

“You’re welcome.”

“Wh- who are you?”

“I’m Dave, the spirit responsible for ensuring all open-faced sandwiches land face-down when dropped.”

“And why would I thank you?”

“Peanut butter is bad for your heart. And besides, now you have an opportunity to finally mop this floor.”

Almost blind with rage, I couldn’t utter a sound. After a few moments, words began to form, but they were inappropriate for mixed company — which probably included spirits.  Finally, I calmed down enough to collect some thoughts, and put together a coherent response:

“Jerk.”

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Writing, (noun & verb)