There is an art involved in constructing a perfect peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich.

Such sandwiches were a mainstay in the school lunches mom made for me when I was a mere lad, but she always fucked them up. The peanut butter was usually overpowered by the jam, which used to soak through the wheat bread and make it all soggy and gross. By the time lunch period came, the sandwich had been sitting in my locker at room temperature for eons, and was every bit as appetizing as a pile of used, wet Kleenex.

This is why I make PERFECT peanut butter sandwiches these days, and there's several steps involved. For one thing, fuck wheat and/or "whole grain" bread; I don't need any hidden "health benefits" in my lunch, goddammit. Only white bread will do, because it's completely devoid of any nutritional value, plus it has a shelf life of approximately eight years. This is because we Americans like to process the shit out of our food and load it up with chemicals, preservatives and all sorts of artificial goodness. Some misguided people bitch about this, but to me it's an American TRADITION!

Back to making the perfect peanut butter sandwich; it's extremely important to layer one side of the bread with at least two inches of peanut butter, preferably more. Or, to put it another way, a small jar of peanut butter should have just barely enough volume to make two sandwiches. The jam, on the other hand, should only be about an inch or so deep on the other side of the sandwich. If you use any more than that, the jam will leak out the sides of the bread and get your hands all sticky. And if there's one thing I HATE, it's a sticky beer can, you know?

Why are you looking at me like that? Doesn't everybody wash down their peanut butter sandwiches with beer? Oh, they don't? Okay then, have mommy pour you a nice glass of milk, you fucking pussy.

Once you've followed these in-depth instructions, take a bite out of the sandwich and observe it closely. Does it weigh at least half a pound? (And no, I'm not going to convert that to metric for you foreign readers, so bite me.) Does the gritty, sugary heap of glop inside the slices of bread instantly make your teeth ache? Does the sheer amount of peanut butter clog your throat and make it difficult to breathe? If not, take apart your sandwich and ADD MORE PEANUT BUTTER. There. You see how easy that was, mom?

Now, I was making such a sandwich at work the other day and preparing myself for the inevitable sugar high (and crash) that would follow. I should add that I was in a perfectly good mood, too--after all, I had fantasized about beating only three or four people to a bloody pulp before lunch, and most of the time I'm easily into double digits at that point during the day. I was in the process of putting my GIANT jar of peanut butter back in the cupboard when I noticed a bold disclaimer on the side. It read, WARNING: CONTAINS PEANUTS.

I was momentarily confused. "Contains peanuts??" I thought to myself. "Well, gee, NO SHIT!" I had always assumed it was a given that "peanut butter" would contain peanuts. I mean, the name of the product itself should be a dead giveaway. For another thing, the ingredients were listed directly below the disclaimer, and the first one listed was "peanuts." If that weren't a big enough clue, there were pictures of peanuts all over the fucking jar, for Christ's sake!

So I was momentarily taken aback, because my beloved peanut butter jar had just insulted me. How stupid did it think I was, anyway? But then the reasoning behind the disclaimer dawned on me; there are some people in this world that are HIGHLY allergic to peanuts... and they are unlucky souls, the poor, poor bastards. Not only can't these people EAT peanuts, they can't so much as breathe in peanut dust, otherwise they'll croak. Obviously, such individuals would probably want to steer clear of peanut butter--unless they're suicidal, of course. Still, why would a "peanut warning" be necessary on, of all things, a fucking jar of PEANUT butter?

Now, I'm suddenly all pissed off, because I realized why. At one point or another, some allergic idiot must have eaten some peanut butter, gotten sick and pleaded ignorance. I can just hear it now; "But I didn't KNOW it had actual peanuts in it! They should have a warning on the label! After all, there's no actual orange juice in orange soda! There's no actual apples in apple-favored Jolly Ranchers!"

I don't have to tell you what happened next--the aforementioned idiot got a sleazy (yet resourceful) attorney and sued the shit out of the good folks at Jiff. Or maybe it was Skippy. Or maybe it was those bastards that make Peter Pan. Regardless of who it was, the guy with the peanut allergy probably got a multi-million dollar settlement as a reward for his own stupidity. It's funny how these people are too dumb to read labels, yet they always seem intelligent enough to file frivolous lawsuits.

Because of bullshit like this, your morning coffee and fruit pie from McDonald's has a warning on the container cautioning you that its contents are "HOT!" Because of bullshit like this, the sleeping pills in my medicine cabinet have a disclaimer which reads, "May cause drowsiness." Mark my words, eventually it will get to a point where you'll buy a set of steak knives and it'll have something like this printed on the box--"WARNING: Repeatedly impaling yourself with the enclosed knives may cause serious injury or death." I was reminded of the old Simpsons episode in which the town of Springfield was gearing up for the big football game. The family was watching the news, and one of the newscasters said, "Springfield has been hit with football fever! And the only cure is to take two tickets and call me in the morning!" Another voice heard immediately afterward says, in a softer register, "Warning; tickets not to be taken internally." Homer, watching from the couch, proudly proclaims, "See? Because of me, they have a warning!" Yeah, that about sums it up in a nutshell.

As I sat there in the break room, pondering the greedy, stupid nature of mankind, I got myself so worked up that I hardly even noticed that I had finished my sandwich. And the aftertaste left in my mouth was not one of peanut buttery goodness, but one of bile and rage. I'm too honest and smart for my own good. That's why people like me toil away and work our asses off for measly sums, while dishonest, money-grubbing assholes make millions of dollars by filing bullshit lawsuits.

Huh, you know what? Come to think of it, maybe I'm the stupid one after all. Maybe it's time to buy some steak knives and live dangerously.

Anyone want to represent me in my soon-to-be -filed frivolous lawsuit?

-JTL

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