The invasion of arachibutyrophobia

It was chaos. People were running everywhere. Screams of terror escaped the mouths of civilians of all ages.

Greetings!

For many years the people of Peanutville had savoured their special Peanut Butter.

As many of you know, I love words. They are totally and completely awesome.

The taste was incredible.

They're even as cool as numbers. That's saying something; I find numbers fascinating.

It smelled delicious.

Every once in a while I come across a word of utmost amazingness. I have a whole digital Post-It dedicated to these.

Whether it be chunky or smooth, everyone loved it.

I would like to share with you one of these today.

Money was worthless here. They traded in jars of Peanut Butter.

It is one of those words you wouldn't assume to be of existence.

They lived it, breathed it. It was their life.

I especially love words like that; strange ones which most people pass through life without ever hearing of.

Then one day, a man appeared. He had a phobia so terrible that it tipped the town upside down.

Honestly, who would have thought that there was a word so odd as this?

For reasons unknown, another person got it. Then another. Then another. It wasn't contagious, but the horror of such a thing seemed to mentally affect one person at a time, until ever last citizen had it.

Arachibutyrophobia.

The fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth.