America is great, isn’t it? They just take things and make them shorter, easier and far less effort. Even if the thing you were doing involved negligible amounts of effort in the first place. Even if, for instance, that thing was spreading peanut butter on your bread and then spreading jam on it. It’s just so exhausting, isn’t it?
Well, happily a chap (probably called Dirk Junior or some other made up nonsense name), has solved that problem, creating this absolute monster of a thing: PB & J together in a jar.
Good job, guys.
Dirk probably thought this Frankenstein-inspired condiment monster was an actual good idea that he’d had. No doubt he jumped straight off his chair and began parading around the office, swathed in nothing but a US flag, collecting hilarious over the top hi-fives from all his intensely American colleagues. They probably said ‘Good Job!’ to him too, except with real smiles etched across their faces and not the sarcastic, upturned snarling ones they should’ve been sporting.
Well, Dirk, someone’s got to say it. Your PB & J together in a jar is shit.
First let’s talk about the ‘PB’. This is not peanut butter. It is a pretender. There is no alternate universe in which this ‘PB’ would pass for actual peanut butter in a jar of its own. It looks like something you might find leaking out of an insipid wound, dampening soiled bandages. It reeks of all the world’s indifference. And it tastes, as you might expect, of nothing but infection and hopelessness. Also there are no crunchy bits.
And the ‘jelly’? Well, if we can for a moment forget the fact that it’s not called jelly it’s called jam and it’s supposed to taste of actual fruit and not the molten souls of a thousand gummy bears condensed into one thick purple sludge that calls itself ‘grape’ but clearly has never seen a grape, then we might be forgiven for thinking that this ‘jelly’ was a good idea. I mean, it is a nice bright colour. It looks like a glistening gemstone from the crown of a Disney Princess, if you squint. But we can’t forget. For as soon as we detect the faintest whiff of this alarmingly cloying gloop all we can do is remember the intense distress caused by our first taste of it, and all we can see is rage, disappointment, and crushing despair.
If you fancy partaking of a real-life horror story within your own mouth hole you can purchase this grisly concoction in Tesco’s. It costs £4.50. Yes I actually spent £4.50 on this. And no, I will never get over it.