jay of the wretched birthdays

Dear Peanut Guy,

My friends both had birthday parties and my friend gets a lot of presents and I don't get any. Do you have any advice?

~Jay, 6

dear jay,

i recall an oft-quoted proverb of the wise and benevolent peanut ancients:

who longeth not for the rind most salty?
who craveth not the sliken stalk?
who coveteth not manure sweet as mother's tangy butter crock?

what tears are shed for the rind less sturdy?
what songs are sung for the withered stalk?
who wants manure old and dry like rotten corpse of J.S. bach?

as peanut gal so often spoke to our teeming mass of ruthless offspring: "when you visit graceland, don't shit in the jungle room." that is to say, only elvis gets to shit in the jungle room in graceland, and only your far-more-popular friends get presents on their own damn birthdays.

life, as they say, is fair only on our own birthdays: and even then, not really. i guarantee you'll see a far more feculent haul on the bittersweet anniversary of your thus-far unfortunate birth. my prediction: a tin of cured jerky, an emery board, and century-old popcorn packed into flimsy dollar store plastic bags. such is life, young jay.

therefore, allow me to propose a solution: rather than bitch and moan, why not mooch mooch mooch? arrive at charles' place promptly after kindergarten and challenge him to any number of festive competitions on the nintendo wii. if and when he declines your offer, "persuade" him with the sharp end of your freshly-whittled emery-shiv.

now whose wii?
the peanut guy!