Staring down the blender

You, blender, stop looking at me with all your buttons and your funny hat. Your malevolence will not be tolerated here. I'm a real live person, don't you look at me. I see you wanting to grab my hand, to try to puree it and prevent me from getting into the honey roasted peanuts. Because of the calories? Or maybe you're wanting to grate, grind, crumb, or chop my hand along with the honey roasted peanuts and have me use my other hand to spread the mixture on toast, a sort of honey peanut butter and jellied hand with bone and fingernail fragments? I love honey roasted peanuts, even chopped, even bloody, but my hand is too important. No matter how undesirable, obscene, and disgusting the words I write, I am people and you are machine. We are not the same. I have something extra.
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