Peanuts – KensView

One day as I was waiting for a job interview, I lapsed into a daydream — I dreamed I was a peanut. I was neither a very big peanut nor a handsome one. I was just a plain, ordinary, happy peanut, not well-off but comfortable in my own way. I was perfectly content to live out my life like any other peanut, waiting in the sun for the day the farmer would grab me up and send me off to be packed and sent to sit for months on some distant shelf. All I would do as I waited was sit down near to the earth and hum a simple tune to pass the time.

Things turned out quite differently for me, however. It so happened that some representatives from Panter’s Peanuts came by and overheard me humming. “Unbelievable!” one shouted, “A humming peanut!” They all dashed over to speak to me. “Where did you learn to hum?” they asked in unison.

I was just about to answer when I was interrupted. “Never mind. We’ll sign you up. Why this is the greatest thing since singing oranges!” (I suddenly remembered the television commercials with the singing sun-kissed orange who skyrocketed to fame from obscurity and had recently gone beyond that and turned to religion crusading against fresh grapefruits.)

Well, I, too, was catapulted into a career. Before I could realize it, I was packed up and heading straight for Honeywood. There I met one of those big-time managers who was to become my very own. I was shaking in my shell. As I came into his presence, I overheard him talking to one of his colleagues; “It’s simply sensational. A stroke of luck. One in a billion, nay in a trillion! The nation’ll love him. He’ll hum his way into the hearts of millions of peanut butter lovers everywhere.”

I was overwhelmed. They were talking about me. We were introduced. “Don’t be nervous, kid,” he said, “We’re your friends. Bet your ma and pa are proud of you. Heh! Heh! At least they will be when we make a star out of you. We’re impressed, nay blown out!”

After reflecting upon the fact that I never had time to call home, I timidly asked what made me so special. “Why, kid, don’t be modest. Modesty’s a bad word in our business. Why you are the only hummin’ peanut in the whole, wide world, including Georgia!” Pantin’ Peanuts been lookin’ hard an’ long for a gimmick, erh, I mean a new sensational, creative promotion to help drive their already burgeoning business up over the hill.”

“But sir, I only hum a few simple tunes, nothing fancy. I’m no Almond brother; and besides, look at me, I’m no Clint Chestnut either.”

“No that’s true, but, oh, that’s all right, kid. We’ve got a great backup band and the makeup men can perform miracles… Let’s get started.”

And off we went. First came the taping sessions and studio performances. Soon came the real thing. There were no more rehearsals. The pace was fast and furious. But the manager was right. It was a success. I became a star overnight. The fan mail went from one letter (a letter from my mom wishing me luck) to thousands. I had to hire three secretaries. The company’s stocks on Walnut Street soared up and up. There was a ticker tape parade in the Big Apple. I launched the first peanut-shaped submarine. Filbert University awarded me an honorary doctorate degree. I even gave a private performance at 1600 Pistachio Avenue.

I used to read a lot of dime novels, you know, the Hazelnut-Acorn novels, about rising from rags to riches and never believed a word. Here I was flyyyyying!!! A real living legend. I was the celebrity. Agents and. fans kept trying to crash down the gates of my villa. They were vying with one another to get an interview, a look, or a chance to rummage through my garbage cans for God knows what.

And the parties, Jumpin’ Joe Nutmeg, they were indeed produced in Honeywood! Creamy Cashews all screamed their darling little hearts out as I crooned a few bars. Every day I was drinking hickory sours out of peanut shells. Every night I had collected so many keys tossed by female admirers I couldn’t find my own. And I didn’t care either. It seemed I had reached so high that I couldn’t get any higher. Incredible!

But then my manager tapped me on the shoulder and exclaimed, “Look, kid, I’ve got the best idea in the whole world. The killer! Remember ol’ Elvis Pretzel. He was a great and popular star when he was young, but the poor kid got a bit pudgy, livin’ so high like he did. He started to take to drugs, bad trips and all that. The sales of his records began droppin’ off. Well, then he croaked, you know, that poor kid. But the amazin’ thing was the sales of his records, souvenirs, memorial tombstones, all that stuff went through the roof. Amazin’ isn’t it. Well, I’ve got this great idea…”

I didn’t stop to hear the rest. I turned and ran and ran and …only to be grabbed by a couple of big hairy coconuts. Before I knew it, I was strapped down in the jaws of a giant nutcracker and those jaws were a closin’!…

The receptionist’s call suddenly woke me: “Sir, Mr. Smith is ready to see you now.” I was in a cold sweat. I stood up and faced the exit. As I passed the receptionist, I handed her a note to give to Mr. Smith. It read “Sorry Charlie,” and I continued on my way.