Feeling of Cups

I don’t know what that means. It is on the side of a note book that I have, and sometimes I just think of it. I’m feeling of cups. Or maybe it is what cups feel like. I don’t know, and I don’t really care.

The aroma of meat
Today I came home from work, and the person who I am staying with had cooked up a charming array of meat in a pot for his dogs. Even though the smell that had spread throughout the house was bad enough, I decided I should test my nerves by looking inside said pot. The contents, which included fish, kangaroo and a variety of other old pieces of meat that no one wanted anymore looked like dog food. That was a surprise, but then that was only at the top, and the texture was probably different at different levels. I don’t know because I didn’t hang around to find out. What drove me away was not how it looked, though, because I have actually seen dog food before, but the overpowering stench that wafted out of the pot. It didn’t really waft, actually, it more came out of the pot in a cloud that I’m surprised wasn’t brown and floated around my head like in a cartoon, or when you run into a ‘hallucinating mushroom’ in the second Harry Potter game on playstation.
That particular passage was dedicated to my sister, who has become a vegetarian for an unknown period of time. Actually, this experience might have turned me vegetarian too.

Peanut butter
I need to buy some peanut butter. Not many people know it, but peanut butter is actually a very controversial item. Like, most people know that you should be careful about eating it in public, in case you leave a particle of peanut in the air which a child might inhale and have an anaphylactic reaction to. However, there are other evils associated with peanut butter. For example, my own grandmother campaigned against the use of crunchy peanut butter in the canteen of the school my father attended, on account of the fact that the little bits of peanut could cause a child to choke. Because everyone knows that you chew all of your food up to pieces smaller than a peanut granule before you swallow. Another controversial issue surrounding what I have been calling ‘peanut butter’ is its name. Most people call it peanut butter I think, and that’s what it says on the jar, but everyone from my mother’s side of the family insist on calling it ‘peanut paste’, seeing as it is not actually butter, but a paste made from peanuts. Which is all very well, but, following that logic, coconut milk should then really be called ‘coconut juice’, and finger buns called ‘buns with icing on top’ etc.
So, those are all of the interesting and debatable issues surrounding peanut butter/paste, which, to me, are of pretty high interest and importance.

All of this is quite pointless, but I’m bored, I’m the chairman of the bored. And so, probably, are you after this lengthy monologue.