You’ve wronged me, jar of natural peanut butter. I scoff at the partially hydrogenated oils and added sugars of your pasty cousins, but you have taken oil separation too far. I was opening you, when you spilled upon my cloth chair. Who will look at the stain you left and believe for a moment that it is anything but semen? You have soiled my name (and my furniture), and I have no recourse besides a duel. When the soapy water dries, we will see who is the better man, my cylindrical friend.