The Mr. Peanut Murders: Difference between revisions

There was a rash, some light tingling, a swelling sensation and a general feeling that I wasn’t all there, but it went away. And when it did. I had fifty bucks worth of free planters coupons. “Take your blood money!” I yelled fiercely. I threw them in the peanut boy’s face and kicked him square in the peanut abdomen. He flew like a soccer ball across the dining room, out a window and landed in the  atlantic ocean. Thankfully for him, peanuts are their own flotation device. “Dear boy, the cooling ocean waves are only flavoring me for the Planters-in-The-Atlantic line of salted nut snacks, you nut sack.” Indeed, you can’t win with Mr. Peanut. He’s been mailing me letters to come back to the estate so he can murder me, but I won’t go. I’m a little afraid, a little ashamed, and a little angry. Some say, if you listen carefully at night, you can hear Mr. Peanut at your window, tapping his cane, doing a little dance. You may think it’s an alien or a baby, or a baby alien, but no. It’s the peanut man. That goddamn peanut-shaped-man. 

[[Category:Pages with grammar that doesn't suck]]