Thursday, May 10, 2012

The Man Who Wanted To Be Peanut Butter

Dedicated to Ms. Inga Lamb

Charles Hoffler was an odd sort of man, in the fact that he thought about the world in a much different way than others. First, there was his notion that the Sun was actually made of Limburger, and that the mold created on it over several millions of years began to give off an insurmountable amount of heat, which in turn made it glow. The reason that no one ever had to worry about the awful smell of the sun, was because it was so far away from the planet Earth.
It might sound strange, but these were the sorts of things that Mr. Hoffler thought about. But the most bizarre idea that ever plopped itself into that region right below his ever-receding hairline, was one of utter ridiculousness. Even the looniest of the loonies in the bin wouldn't have dreamed of the sheer foolishness that poked around in his noggin...
Charles Hoffler wanted to be peanut butter. How? Why?
Well, those are the same kinds of questions that any sound thinking individual might ask themselves upon having heard such an obtuse thing; but in Hoffler's mind, it made perfect sense.
"I should like to be a fine sandwich spread." He thought to himself, as he walked along one of London's busier avenues.
"There'd be plenty of me to go around, plenty of me to make sure that every child gets a sandwich."
"But how do you make a man into peanut butter?" He thought. "How do you grind his bones and flesh and organs into a fashion that might allow him to be readily consumed by the masses?"
It was a certainly odd question, but one that he thought deserved an answer.
His neighbours thought he was crazy, but he held such an upstanding position at a factory that produces peanut butter, that they thought that the "nuts must've just gone right to his head."
The reverend at his church also thought him rather nutty, as nutty as any jar of peanut butter that he's ever spread upon a sandwich. Of course, the old reverend's teeth had long been gone, and his tongue didn't care much for the taste of peanut butter. It made him feel old, which he was; and didn't quite want to be reminded of it.
But that didn't stop Mr. Hoffler from coming into the church with a jar of peanut butter and asking the reverend to help him with his absurd request.
"Surely God can help me." He'd say to the reverend. "Surely, God can help me become what I was always meant to be; a spread of peanut butter."
"But you've got such a wonderful job, in a factory that's still producing plenty of peanut butter everyday. Why do you think that people would actually eat peanut butter that was made from a human being?" The reverend asked, but for the life of him; he wasn't even sure why he had asked such a question.
"Because I've got a rather fine taste." The man replied. But it was most certainly true, as he daily licked his fingers and toes, and sometimes even his arms and legs. He rather thought that he was delicious, and thought that other people might like the taste of him just as much as he did.
Yes, he thought about it daily, as he watched the people go by in their automobiles and along the trolley.
"I would want nothing more than to be mixed into a fine paste of ground nuts and placed into jars, where people could open me and spread me upon their bread and biscuits." He thought once again to himself, as he walked into the factory.
The guard greeted him as he put on his usual work suit, which slid on directly over his clothes. But today wasn't going to be just another day at the London peanut butter factory. Yes, today was going to be the day that he became the peanut butter.
"It's been too long since people have had the chance to eat something as delicious as I would be." He thought. "There's been far too many days where I've seen their poor eyes and lips water in the anticipation of my deliciousness."
His courage got stronger and stronger as he walked closer and closer to the factory's peanut grinder.
"Sir? What are you doing?" Another worker asked, as Charles began to place himself directly upon the conveyor belt that fed into the grinder.
"Sir? Sir? Have you lost your mind?" The worker hollered, not sure what to do.
"Yes, we've got a 122!" He shouted over his walkie-talkie. "There is a man on the conveyor belt!" The gentleman was screaming in sheer panic. "This bloke's trying to kill himself!"
"Kill?" Thought Charles. "I'm going to be peanut butter!"
All of the workers at the peanut butter factory attempted to pull Mr. Hoffler off of the conveyor belt, but it was to no avail. He was simply too large, and just a few seconds from being ground up along with the rest of the nuts.
It wasn't but a mere few seconds later, before he fell into the vat where the peanuts were ground and mixed. The crew could do nothing but watch helplessly as a man ended his own life, right there in the factory.
Yes, it was true that they sobbed and mourned for Mr. Hoffler. The factory closed down early that day, as workers went home and thought about the odd man who wished to be ground up into peanut butter. Some of them even couldn't sleep that night.
But regardless of all that, they knew that a factory worker's job was to keep working, and they all came back to work the next day.
But on this day, things were different.
Yes, they were much different!
The guard had a wide smile on his face and greeted each every person into the factory with a smile. The factory itself even had the most wonderful smell, and it smelled so delicious that the workers didn't even seem to mind doing their jobs today.
"What could it have been?" They thought. "Why would things be so much better today, after a man lost his life?"
"It's the peanut butter." Another factory worker said. "Have you tasted it as of late? It smells wonderful!"
"I'm sure there's nothing different about it." Another worker said. "But I'll give it a shot and put a finger into this jar."
Immediately, when he put that finger dipped in peanut butter into his mouth, he was overblown with sensation! His eyes watered and his teeth chattered, for they'd never had something that was quite so scrumptious as long as they've shared space on his body!
"It's glorious." He said. "This is by far the best thing that I've ever tasted.
"You think it's..." Another worker said, but covered her mouth quickly with her hand.
"That fellow might have been odd, but perhaps he was right." The worker replied, putting another finger full of peanut butter into his mouth. "Maybe his only mission in life was to become peanut butter..."

And from that day forward, (or at least until they ran out of their special brand of peanut butter) the company made more money than they had ever seen from their sales of peanut butter. It was said that people literally fought over it, the taste was so divine.
Apparently, the special peanut butter was so good that other countries wanted some jars for their own sampling, which sparked great tensions between nations, and eventually became the "Peanut Butter Wars."
Supposedly, millions of people died all on account of peanut butter, but if you believe that and this story at all; then I've got a right nice mansion out in the Antarctic that I can sell you.


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