ToastThere is nothing quite like toast and raspberry jam at three in the morning. The only thing that could make it better would be to have some after a few hours of hot sex, but that doesn't happen very often. Obviously.
So anyway, toast. Put some cheap bread in the toaster. Make sure it's plugged in. Open the fridge – great, the jar's empty. Go to the cupboard – Score! One jar left.
Damn! It's shut tight. Hot water on the lid – still won't budge. The toast's just popped up, finished. It'll be cold by the time I get this jar open. Maybe I should use grape tonight. Ever stubborn, I decide against it.
Grab the first knife I can find – giant meat cleaver. Perfect. Bang jar lid with edge, not really paying attention – Fuck! Big, leaky gash on left hand now. Ignore the pain, turn knife around, keep swinging. Jar lid's all dented and crappy now, but I try it and – success! It finally opens. Quickly find a smaller knife, put cold toast on plate, get to work.
Blood dripping on slightly burnt toast