Humor
YOU’RE MY BEST FRIEND, MR. PEANUT
FRIENDSHIP IS NUTS
So many people forget about their friends in favor of romance, but not me. A friend isn’t an afterthought. A friend is there for you, whether you realize it or not. I want to dedicate this piece to my constant companion, my best friend, my platonic soulmate: Mr. Peanut. Yes, Mr. Peanut. The Mr. Peanut of the Planters Company, a subsidiary of Kraft Heinz. I know he might not be flesh-and-blood, or even a human being, but his presence in my life is undeniable and I owe him and the Planter’s corporation a debt of gratitude.
For when I was hungry, he fed me.
When I was thirsty, he made me a little thirstier, but I forgive him for that.
When I was sick, he gave me strength.
When I was naked, he gave me clothes: a monocle and a top hat. Unfortunately, I still got arrested for public indecency, but I forgive him for that.
When I was in prison, he visited me, mostly in the form of platonic dreams and one time in the form of a lawyer from Kraft Heinz who was unhappy with the negative publicity my court case was bringing the company. I asked him to elaborate. He said he wasn’t too keen on the image of a nude man waltzing down Madison Avenue announcing that he was Mr. Peanut’s best friend and most humble servant. I explained that I wasn’t nude, but in fact I was wearing a monocle and a top hat. He argued that all of my worst bits were still on display. I suggested that using words like “worst” and “upsetting” to describe my body was a little harsh. He ventured to say that my physique was not one that Kraft Heinz wished to associate with their products, but I forgave him for that, though not immediately.
And when I was released back into society, he was the first person to see me, again, in the form of a lawyer. He asked me plainly to no longer to say Mr. Peanut was my best friend. I told him that I love Mr. Peanut platonically. He said that’s preferable than the alternative but that I couldn’t go around saying that I was best friends with Mr. Peanut. I asked why I could not. He said I couldn’t because Mr. Peanut isn’t real, but rather a fictional anthropomorphized peanut. I said I know. He said good, that’s a relief. I asked him what he meant. He asked me what I meant. I asked is Mr. Peanut real. He said what, but in a really suspicious way. I asked well is he, or isn’t he? He offered me a lifetime supply of Planters Dry Roasted Peanuts if I just dropped the questioning right there.
So now I say with an open heart and a full stomach, I would be nothing without Mr. Peanut, and I’m so glad that he will be a part of my life for the rest of my life. That’s a true friend in my book, even though it might not be legal for me to say that.
