As I was sitting down in my jungle green lazy boy recliner the pain of hunger struck me like four daggers protruding from my stomach. Rising up and opening the refrigerator I see scraps of food that could be used in a variety of dishes if only their other components were present. I notice the lurking presence of bread on top of the refrigerator and the old but experienced jar of jelly sitting in the lower arm next to some untapped Pillsbury cinnamon rolls.

"Looks like its PB&J time," I say to myself as a current of ice trickles down my spine. Opening the cupboard and removing the jar labeled Jiffy chunky I grab the top preparing to expose the virgin surface underneath. Pausing I take a deep breath and reassure myself that this time will be different. "You can do it," I say to myself in the empty room "you're stronger than before." I opened the peanut butter jar only to be hypnotized by the brown cream fostering nuts on a smooth olive surface. Hesitation hit me like the paralysis a grandfather must feel as his nine year old grandson plunges a fountain pen into his throat. He's hypnotized by the innocence of this monster who's draining him of his being with a Bic product and helpless to resist. Why? Because he feels love and compassion for his killer.

At that moment I was the grandfather and the jar of Jiffy chunky was the little bastard bleeding me. "I will not be a victim!" I yell inside my apartment and grab the butter knife with my right hand. Looking down at that jar with its untouched virtue and erotic exterior hesitation struck once again as I lowered the knife in brief defeat. How, in God's name, was I going to stick a knife into something so pure and beautiful, so supple and smooth; the surface glistened like a glazed donut with turtle wax on it. The pressure was becoming too much, my knees grew weak and tears began to build up around my eyes at the thought of penetrating such an innocent and flawless surface. I knew that I needed this important component to make my sandwich whole and relieve myself of the daggers that were still protruding from my stomach. But knowing this still didn't make my gory task any easier. Looking at the surface I thought I saw a face form from the cream and nuts and it reminded me of a starving child you see on TV late at night.

"Please don't hurt me," the jar of peanut butter said. I felt pity for the position it was in and guilty for the one I was. The notion that a jar of peanut butter talking is completely absurd never occurred to me. "I don't want to little guy but I'm soooo" I began to reply but before I could finish something inside my stomach bit down on a pink delicious organ spewing blood out my navel and onto the kitchen counter. I heard the sound of ripping flesh as the small opening on my gut began to widen and felt 1,000 burning needles coursing throughout my body via the nervous system. Somewhere in the back of my mind I heard the daggers of hunger clink together as they fell to the floor and my world began to tear apart and sear with flames. Actually, my stomach just growled but it was close to navel bleeding pain more or less. "Please, spare me. Don't be like all the others mister. I don't want to die." I looked around the room in confusion before remembering the jar of Jiffy chunky and its sorrowful plight. Thinking of all its brothers and sisters being grabbed up and gutted onto wheat or even worse yet; white vitamin less bread filled me with a sorrow I had never felt before. Dropping the butter knife out of my right hand to the floor I curled up into a ball and cried while my stomach was savagely beat on by hunger.