I live in the door. Second shelf, next to the eggs, since the fridge was new.
Four ounces, cold all the way through. Nobody takes all of me at once. They take a little every morning and shut the light off again.
net wt 4 oz
Ten at night. The kitchen went quiet, the light clicked off, and nobody came back for me.
By two in the morning my corners were gone and my tail was lying flat in the dish.
You put me back in at eleven. At seven you wanted toast, and you came at me with a cold knife and no patience at all.
So I sat on the blade in one hard lump, the bread came apart down the middle, and you looked at me like I did that on purpose.
I did.
There is no second flavour, no whipped version, no tub. The whole company is me and the wrapper I came in, and the wrapper went in the bin on day one.
Percent daily values were decided by a stick of butter. Store below 4 C. Watch the number climb on Dexscreener.