Jam and Freddie

I hate jam.
The way jam gets stuck all over your knife. How are you meant to clean it off? What do you do when you need to spread your butter all over the bread and the jam has encrusted it and will either deflower your tub of butter or mix ruefully on the sandwich you're preparing?
My cousin Freddie, had just such a problem recently. He had a friend, always clinging on to him. Everywhere he went (Johnny we'll call him) there was Johnny, sticking to him like that jam. Seeds, annoying you, lumps of fruit you couldn't spread away. Sugary, sticking your skin together.
Freddie asked Johnny how come he would always be there? "Why are you always around me? Are you gay, are you high?" Johnny would always say the same thing when reproached in this way: "Wanna play pool? You rack 'em, I'll buy the beer."
And Freddie would say: "Okay," and shuffle over to the pool table. Thing is, Freddie liked pool, and he liked beer. That's all.
I take a lot of comfort from that.