Growing up, outside of cashews, I hated nuts. In fact, walnuts can still kiss my ass. Texturally, they feel awful on the teeth, like biting into a potato chip that’s both stale and soggy. And as far as the flavor goes, walnuts taste like copper death that’s been set on fire. But I digress. See, as much as I’ve come to appreciate almonds and pistacchios, the peanut can still fuck off. What, peanut, it’s not enough to have your hard, outer shell, but you also need that paper-thin second layer around each individual nut? You’re not a person, peanut! You don’t get to layer yourself appropriately as though walking through the city mid-winter en route to the local coffee shop. One shell tops!
Am I dismissing peanut butter? Of course not! Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups? Hell no! Peanut Butter Pie or ice cream? God forbid I insult that outright deliciousness. No, I’m talking about the peanut that insists on flying solo, shelled or unshelled, like a pompous ass! No, I don’t want a bag of that shit for the ballgame, nor do I want a bag to sit with while an elephant takes a shit on its trainer and a creepy-ass clown scares the bejeezus out of some ill-prepared four-year-old. Why? Because peanuts, folks, are boring as all hell. They’re bland, have a strange consistency, wear two “coats,” and inevitably make a ridiculous shitfest of a mess for whomever is left to clean up that mountain of discarded shells.
And then, of course, there’s this guy:
“What’s up, bitches? Y’all like it smooth style or chunky? Me? I like it smoove.”
So let me get this straight. Your mascot is a peanut pimp, decked out in a monocle, cain and top hat, who smiles and waves in the creepiest of creepy fashion like the local Megan’s Law sex offender? Well played, peanuts. No chance of that backfiring.
To recap, peanut butter-based desserts and candy are good. Hell, even this group of numbskulls gets the okay:
Totally looking forward to this year’s all new Christmas special, You’re Forever Doomed to Failure and Will Most Assuredly Die Alone, Charlie Brown!
But I’ll be damned if I’m to be forced not to make the one connection that is, in fact, impossible not to make. Face it, peanut, there’s simply no way around the fact that you’re name sounds somehow comparable to something else I’d prefer not to have in my mouth:
For the record, I just wanted to congratulate her oh so proud parents.
NOTE: The picture above, which has since been blocked, features a girl in a cowgirl hat riding a huge penis that resembles a mechanical bull. Unfortunately, it’s been blocked. Fascist fucks.
See, there’s this alarming word trail that I can’t quite shake. Stay with me here:
- Pea nut.
- Pee nut.
- Pee anus.
That’ll do it for the horribly disgusting peanut. Until “Q” sneaks up and chokes the life out of you, have at it, you vultures!