"i really want to go off the high dive"

Dear Peanut Guy,

I really want to go off the high dive, but i am afraid to. I don't know why I'm afraid, because I went off it before. Can you help?

~Brad W.

dear brad,

conquering one's fears is perhaps the noblest endeavor of man and nut alike. when i was your age my greatest fear was a tie between eating feces and cambodia. then, for twelve years i survived off sunlight and feces in the dank cambodian jungle, where i met peanut gal and really learned to love life even at its most feculent.

however, for your particular ailment the peanut elders recommend frightening your parents by wearing ninja tights and reciting haikus. example:

the sky is a rock
the rock looks like a big skull
the skull will eat mom!

after that, diving will be easy as honey baked pie.

adieu sweet brad,
the peanut guy!

"my friend never comes to church anymore"

Dear Peanut Guy,

My friend never comes to church much anymore. Can you help me talk him into coming more often?

~Cory, 8 Texas

dear cory,

you can't be sure until you find the horns, but i'd bet dollars to sweat lodge tickets your friend has discovered the wonderful world of wicca. what does this mean for cory you ask?

few times are more thrilling than seeing your first friend off to hell. i might suggest burning your friend at the stake or tacking her down and leaving her in the desert. this won't save her from an eternity in fiery brimstone, but if you eat a thimbleful of sand, chances are you'll see jesus.

halleluia,
the peanut guy!

peanut guy: delicious fraud?

Dear Peanut Guy,

I sent you a letter many moons ago and you failed to answer me. You are a fraud, a giant delicious shell of a fraud. At this time, I have employed Mr. Planters to come kick your butt. You will soon be the filling in the most delicious PB & J I have ever eaten. Consider yourself warned.

Sincerely,

~Sitting Angrily with Rage Growing Every moment.


dear SARGE,

mention not the whore at planters! for eons has he shamed his noble kin - nuts of glory who polished his stalk since seedlinghood, carved him a cane when he fell ill with polio and equipped him with monocle when he caught pinkeye. how he angers all peanutkind! and how his goons have ravaged myriad peanut armada missions, including one manned by a young and impressionable petty officer peanutguy!

as countless bushels of my comrades lay broken and splintered, there he crouched, sucking the salt from their moribund rinds with crazed cackles of sadistic revelry. then his cell phone rang and he pranced off like a scampering dandy to his fecund bog in Wilkes-Barre.

threaten me not, knave. thou knowest well why thine questions were left to fester like so many larvae in my overflowing inbox. unlike the planters crowd with which you run, this is a classy establishment which prints not those words which are unfit to print. however: so long as you call off the jackal, i shall answer your previous question with sinful parts redacted, in accordance with the doctrine of freshness:

Dear Peanut Guy,
For years now I have loved a young, supple Kentuckian boy who sends me mixed signals. He has allowed me to drink champagne off his hairy, washboard of a chest or massage his *redacted* back. And yet when it comes time to actually *redacted* his *redacted* body, it’s always, “Dude, I’m not *redacted*.” Well, horse-relish to that, I say. I, too, may “*redacted*” *redacted* college girls, but I know love when I see it, and I see it now. “*redacted*,” I scream, “my love for you shall last throughout the ages.” And yet, he still doesn’t even have the courtesy to give me a *redacted*. Peanut Guy, I implore you, tell me how to snare this Jackalope of Love from the Bluegrass State.

well, "SARGE," have you tried treating him like a gentleman? the kentuckians are known romantics, particularly the supple ones. drinking champagne from the chest of a kentuckian is like shaking the hand of a non-kentuckian - a mere friendly greeting. massaging the *redacted* back of a kentuckian is akin to picking the lint off the sweater of a non-kentuckian - a mere thoughtful gesture extended to even the lowliest back-alley leper.

it seems to me your lustful uproars must merely frighten this poor, *redacted* *redacted*-kitten, who likely has nary an inkling of your love for him, for the kentuckian is the modern day siren whose soulful and sensuous snacking pull even the most headstrong captains off course from the gulfstream of life: not even the mightiest peanut armada can save those who fall prey to their cheeto-encrusted whims. besides, he's already *redacted*ing peanut guy.

cruelly,
the peanut guy!

sorority function : earth

dear peanut guy,

ok i have a sorority function on friday and want to ask this guy to go. the problem is i don't really know him i have just seen him around and am interested in him and think he may be fun to go with and meet someone new. so i was wondering how i should approach him and ask with out soudning stupid b/c i don't know him. the thing is this friday and i wanted to ask him by wednesdaty at the latest. so thanks for helping me out!

~sincerely, stressed sorority girl

dear stressed sorority girl,

in an instant my skull was filled with light and sound. from overhead, the cawing of carrion birds sifted through my cloudy earbones and the answer came to me from afar. i saw you tiptoeing through the dormitory, with functions on the horizon; functions galore. 'who shall take me to the functions?' you called out in vain. would it be peanut guy?...

the gods got together to plan their own function and called it earth. said one to the other, "would but i had a date to the function!" replied the other, "ah, and how to ask without soudning stupid! for i wanted to ask jerry by 'wednesdaty', but 'thursdaty' it is, and jerry prances about in the rocky, violent terrain of this freshly born world looking cavalier as ever!" at this point, jerry stops by and bows gracefully. "why meet someone new when the peanut guy is right o'er yonder?"

a ray of light appeared in the distance and the earth shook. it was a man made of peanut, in all of his handsome majesty. soon jerry meant nothing, and the gods all took peanut guy to the prom and bathed him in candy while jerry sat about twiddling his thumbs and was promptly consumed in volcanic ash.

now i ask you...dream or destiny?!
the peanut guy!

gary: enemy of peanutkind

dear peanut guy,

can you tell me how a roasted peanut becomes a salted peanut. i am
looking for the exact procedures.

much appreciated,
~gary

dear gary,

why don't we come clean, pal? we're both adults here. so let's have it out: you're in cahoots with james, aren't you "gary"? say, "gary," why don't we settle this like gentlemen, in an old-fashioned match of food? if you're truly mature, as i am, then we should have no problem going toe to toe in a food match. incidentally, the peanut clan elders have informed me i have unbridled access to a most cruel iron maiden built to your exact proportions. now, you know the rules:

first, you collect 75kg of food.

then, we both say our battle chants.

finally, the one with the most food wins.

but here's the catch: was it food or was it only a mystic illusion created by means unknown to you--a secret of the peanut clan???

beware,
the peanut guy!

james: enemy of peanutkind

dear peanut guy,

i was wondering what the name of the skin on the peanut is called.
not the shell, the stuff that gets stuck in your teeth.

thanks,
~james

dear james,

i am seething. thy long-winded and offensive monologues shall be tolerated no longer, nor shall thy provincial slang and mockingly civil ways. as i sit at my laughably tiny desk, quill in hand, i can think of no greater medicine for my rage than to crouch over thine shrunken head, wedging myself between thy teeth until thine agony matches that of my fallen brothers and sisters. yet i was raised, as are all civilized nuts, by the doctrine of freshness, and thy large and tender rind shall not hinder the noble standards of my upbringing.

i recall the fateful words of peanut gal as she lay on her festering cot, seconds before the kudzu ripped apart the foundation:

let not the tooth,
with wholesome bite,
distract me from my pants;
my pants are large,
my buttons bright,
they beckon me to dance.

let this be a lesson to you,
the peanut guy!

"every day at school something has to bother me"

Dear Peanut Guy,

Hi, I'm Tracy and I have a problem. Every day at school something has to bother me. One day, I wanted to play with my friend Ashley, but my other friend Kelly wanted to play with me too. I don't know who to play with. I like both of my friends very much, but when I play with one of my friends, my other friend gets mad at me. I even tried playing with both of them and asking them what they both like to do, but it never works. I don't know what to do!!

Please Help!
~Tracy

dear tracy,

like a squid trying to play the accordion, it's clear you're out of your league and really pissing everyone off at the coral reef. ashley and kelly obviously admire your sleek, rubbery body and your seemingly endless ink sac. but what can they offer you?

as usual, the peanut elders have addressed your problem in their oft-cited 1664 treatise "seduced by the salt: the secret curse of the magnetically radiant rind":

...for she of the stalk most silken hath plentiful nuts, and naught but a handful crave friendship, but rather to see their rinds' reflection in the glistening sheen of her radiant stalkfeathers...

the scarlet women ashley and kelly are of the latter ilk, dear tracy.

ashley is like the snake - she is conniving, and her teeth are pointy and filled with venom which must be sucked out immediately by the nearest ranch hand. kelly is like the locust - harmless when alone, but a most cruel leviathan when accompanied by her three trillion clones whose deafening onslaught rape the earth and blacken the sky, causing unspeakable suffering until the next rainy season.

for this reason, i suggest swift, clandestine action against ashley and an immediate playground alliance with kelly. she is hideous and malevolent, but her powers will prove invaluable when you rise to power and reign for a thousand years as the cruel dark princess of garfield middle school.

mercilessly,
the peanut guy!

holy undergarments gets pantsed

dear peanutguy,

yesterday at work we were all standing around the water cooler and i was trying to talk to the cute new guy when stoopid stacy pantsed me in front of everybody! now everyone knows my mum embroiders portraits of saints on my underwear. what revenge should i take? and how do i ask that hot guy out?

~holy undergarments

dear holy undergarments

i will humor your wolf-pack of dog-lies with a gentleman's response, for integrity is the way of the peanut clan.

first, no god-fearing man-child would ever dare violate thy sanctified naughties. You should dash the sacred underpants just as the harlot stacy dashed your dreams.

as henry david thoreau once said, "vengeance is a dish best served cold." the peanut clan scriptures provide us with a useful corollary: "when in doubt, make it stinky."

place upon her desk a gift-wrapped gazpacho with a tag reading "to stacy. from: antonio banderas." only this: put a tiny bit of poop in there (!)

then, stage another pants-dropping scenario revealing a new pair of enchanting underthings embroidered with a signed portrait iron-on patch of famed occultist aleister crowley! your muscle-bound hero will be putty in your fiendish clutches.

saltily thine,
the peanut guy!

to french or not to french

Dear Peanut Guy,

I can’t get myself to French Kiss this guy I like a lot! I have never done it and I can’t get myself to do it. How do you do it? What else could we do to stay intimate other than sex?

Signed,
~ Never Been Kissed

dear never been kissed,

if love were a meat, it would be beef tenderloin - cut from the juiciest, most tender middle of the cow of life. the key to happiness, NBK, is to season the love with onions, seasonings, and sometimes raw eggs. only thusly can we blend the perfect steak tartare of happiness.

sadly, "frenching" your man is the only way to stay intimate other than sex, known amongst the peanut folk as the sashimi of intimacy - the first course of food-love. you are ordered to french him. here's how:

discretely cover his eyelids in yuba

powder your lips delicately with horseflesh

carefully place the LP "private eyes" by hall & oates on your turntable

recite the pledge of allegiance

open mouth

commence frenching

adieu,
the peanut guy!

arrivederci, giliann

dear peanut guy,

Good day, my dear friend

I still live with my parents under the same roof and I am sorry to say this, but I am already tired to see how they rule over my life. I work hard and I make enough to have a good life, but I give a lot to my parents. My friends ask why don't I just rent an apartment and leave: I just think that I will be sorry all my life for leaving them: Maybe you can give me an advice? Is there a way to get "divorced" with my parents and build my life with a man who will love me. I am looking for a life partner and friend, for lover and gentleman in my future husband. I hope all these features are combined in you. Your answer should wait for me and I am thankful to my destiny that I have a chance to get to know you better:

A rivederci,
~Giliann D.

dear giliann,

you are not the first vertebrate maiden to swoon over peanut guy's perfectly salted rind, his glistening protein-rich stalk which feeds upon the roaring firelight in the legume-hungry eyes of all the female phyla of italy.

but alas, sweet giliann d., i have sworn but one true love and peanut gal is she. however, no known by-laws of the peanut code preclude me from helping defenseless italians, so long as they swear allegiance to the peanut guy and join his royal peanut armada as as a junior midshipman every other new moon. have you sworn yet? then:

first, quit your job in the sugar mines. if your parents protest, simply recite the peanut oath of cyclical responsibility: "i, peanut giliann swear upon the seeds of mine fathers thou hast approved of mine actions whilst intoxicated beyond the legal limit."

next, you must immediately ask the following of each eligible bachelor you meet: "stilgar, do we have wormsign?" to which your lover of destiny will surely reply, "usal, we have wormsign the likes of which even peanut guy has never seen."

the rest, as they say, is foodsandwich.

lasciarme passeggia quell'asino,
the peanut guy!