"stay the hell away from my son"

Dear Peanut Guy,

The other day my coworker told me in confidence that he killed a neighborhood pet while he was busy fixing his hair in the car. What should I do? In addition, my son is allergic to peanuts. So, you know, stay the hell away from my son.

Signed,
~Mr. Wheat

dear mr. wheat,

i am perfectly happy sitting at my laughably tiny desk, quill in hand, for the rest of my days. perhaps you should warn your sickly son with the histamine affliction not to come near me. were he to approach a twelve-mile radius of my well-fortified georgian compound i assure you my crack squad of peanut commandos would put him out of his misery with jaw-dropping precision.

my first suggestion is to listen closely to your soothsaying youth. for the peanut elders teach that the human peanut allergy is but a warning to all humankind that the age of the peanut cometh; and all whose nostrils have been seduced by our carefully salted rinds, our honey-roasted deliciosity, shall perish in the first waves of the great bloody war of legume liberation prophesized in the ancient peanut texts. beware.

as for your murderous coworker, my advice column colleagues would surely suggest you confront your friend about his transgressions and, failing that, report him to the authorities. to do so would be salacious, boobhardy and utterly naive. instead:

offer him an eclair filled with acetone

when he drifts off to sleep, tack a post-it to his forehead scrawled with the words "cat killer"

cut off his hair and fashion a beautiful toupee for peanut guy

verily our new age cometh,
the peanut guy!