Nutella Is My Jam

Tim was a garbage man.  

It sucked.

He had to wake up every morning before the sun came out, put on his uniform, and drive the worst smelling truck in the city.

Oh, and his good-for-nothing roommate just killed his cat a couple of days ago, too.  Life was indeed sucking for Tim.

The only comfort he had was the super delicious nutella sandwhich he was presently creating in his kitchen.  As he was putting on the top piece of bread on his favorite treat, he heard a voice come from behind him.  

"That doesn't happen to be a nutella sandwich, does it?"

It was his roommate, Jim.

Slightly annoyed, Tim turned around and answered, "Yes it is.  And if you touch it I'm gonna cut your hands off and make you eat in a soup!"

"Woah, buddy," Jim said," chill out."

"Sorry man.  I overreacted.  It's just life is kinda hard right now, and--wait, is that a gun?"

"Yeah, it's a glock g21, suckah! And you're gonna give me your nutella sandwich."

"What?  No way!  Why don't you just make you're own?"

"Because I want yours, duh!"

Tim was scared.  Jim had never pulled a gun on him before.  A knife once or twice, but never a gun.  This was new territory.  

"Ok, just put the gun down, Jim.  We can work this out.  I can teach you how to make a nutella sandwich."

"No!" Jim yelled.  "I want the one you made, and I want it now!"

"Jim, put the gun down or you're gonna make me do something I don't wanna do!"

"You feeling lucky, punk?  Go ahead, try and be a hero.  I won 6th place at the county fair shooting festival."

"I'm sorry, Jim," Tim said as he reached for the butter knife behind him, "but you've forced my hand."

And with a quick flip of the wrist Tim threw the butterknife into Jim's left eye, killing him instantly.

Tim grabbed his sandwich and took a bit.  "You shouldn't of messed with my nutella, Jim," he said through mouthfuls.  "Nutella is my jam."