Mr. Peanut Responds To Salmonella Allegations

Amid a recent scare over a salmonella outbreak in peanut butter and peanut butter products, I contacted famed peanut expert and legume Mr. Peanut for his thoughts on the news. He had an interesting take on the issue:

It’s rare that you hear the good name of peanut butter sullied with such wanton carelessness by the mainstream media, but that is exactly what’s happening. If you listen to the newspapers, you’d think that eating a regular old PB&J sandwich will give you gout of the heart. I’m here to tell you that it’s ludicrous. While many people panic at these outlandish claims of food poisoning, I know the real cause of this uproar.

It is simply another case of legume discrimination.

My kind has been held down for too long, and it’s time someone stood up and said something for my brethren. It’s gone on for decades in the food world, and a stop must be put to this. I’ve seen it manifest itself insidiously countless times while no action was taken. Beans forced to go to separate schools. Peas made to sit at the back of the pod. And worst of all: lentil-only water fountains. Well, as the world’s most recognizable of our kind, I am here to take a stand. In order to bring more awareness to the situation, I will share my own harrowing tales of legumism, and how it has impacted my life personally.

Before I gained fame as a symbol for peanuts everywhere, all I wanted to do was dance. I was a professional flamenco dancer, and when my partner Tatyana and I hit the floor, my God were we caliente. Her lover, Raoul, was a jealous almond from Brazil who could not stand to see her be so intimate with another man. It didn’t help that his stepfather was a vicious alfalfa who insulted him often. When we were practicing for the state finals, he showed up at our rehearsal and smacked my left knee cap with a crowbar. As the police carried him away, he maniacally yelled out, “Sic semper legumis!” Tatyana tried to pull me to my feet, but it was hopeless. Irreparable damaged had been done to my leg. I never danced again, and for the rest of my life I will be forced to walk with the aid of a cane.

All was not lost, however. I was able to make a lucrative living on the motivational speaking circuit after word of my triumph in the face of adversity spread throughout the country. People were captivated by my speeches. Planters Nuts even signed me on as their spokesperson, even though I’m not technically a nut. They sent me on a speaking tour, and it was there that legumism reared its ugly head yet again. We stopped in for a promotional appearance at a pool hall in the backwoods of Alabama. A couple of burly Macadamia nuts in flannel shirts and trucker hats challenged me to a money game, thinking I’d be a fish. But I hustled them. Two hours later, I was $400 richer. As I walked out to the parking lot, one of the bulkier nuts took his pool cue and jabbed it in my right eye. As the cops dragged him away, he smirked and bellowed, “That’ll teach yer kind to come around here, ya no good legg-yume!” They had to rush me to the hospital. They saved the eye, but in order to maintain 20/20 vision, I’ve had to wear a corrective monocle ever since.

While I took some time off to recuperate from my injury, I met a lovely young pecan nurse named Rosie. While I was bed-ridden for several months, my hair grew to ridiculous lengths. Rosie would spend hours running her fingers sensuously through my flowing, golden locks, telling me how that in spite of our differences, she physically could not help loving someone with hair as beautiful as mine.

Unfortunately when she took me home, her father was not as fond of me or my mane.

A magician and rabid legumist, he would loudly proclaim how nuts were the superior plant whenever Rosie brought me over. He would often do magic tricks that embarrassed me in front of her, but she would always say, “As long as he has that gorgeous hair, Daddy, I will always love him.” One afternoon, Rosie and I fell asleep watching a movie on her couch. I awoke later to find father standing over me, clutching an electric razor and wearing a devilish grin. I sprinted to the bathroom to find that he had shaved my head clean. When Rosie saw me, she screamed and ran into her room. Her father ordered me to leave as he went to console her. Panic rushed through my veins, as I realized that a peanut of my stature could not be seen in public with a barren skull. Luckily, in his preparation for a magic performance later that night, her father had left one of his top hats on the family coat rack. I stole it, and ever since I have worn it to conceal my baldness in shame.

So, there you have it. That is my story. I hope it serves as a reminder that we need to preach tolerance for all foods, no matter what their genetic make-up. If these atrocities could happen to me, think of how bad it is for all those below me in food society. I am one of the most prominent and widely known peanuts in all the world and I still see the effects of legumism. Imagine how hard it must be for that pinto bean digging through your garbage.


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