*The below posts comes as is from the mouth of Peanut Butter*

Since this site is about me, Landon, unacknowledger (sic) of Tom, it’s time to flip the damn tables and talk about all the ways Tom does not acknowledge me. Or rather, ignores my attempts to ignore him.

First, let me give you all of the key phrases that come out of Tom’s word hole so when you meet him, you can belittle him by saying his favorite phrases before he does.

1. Landon*
2. Acknowledge*
3. Go get me some skittles*
4. Go get me a cookie*
5. What are your 3 favorite things about living and also your 3 least favorite*
6. Give me 3 pieces of critical feedback*
7. What are your thoughts on otters?*
8. Landon, you’re being more monosyllabic than usual*
9. Can we get Taco Bell*
10. All I have in my fridge is bourbon and starbursts*

*No

*No

*No

*No

*Trick question, Tom will say nothing is good about living

*Trick question again, Tom will not make any changes based on your “critical” feedback (ex: swoop your hair to the other side)

*Don’t answer that unless you want A. To never stop getting otter memes for the rest of your life, or B. To never stop getting otter memes for the rest of your life

*Stop putting our text messages through data analytics

*No

*Good, that’s 2/7 main food groups

Second, let me teach you some Landon approved ways of unacknowledging Tom.

1. Never answer any form of communication, only send a raven if you need his help
   1. The raven fits his pretend dark depressing humor, and will undoubtedly cause him to forget you as he befriends the bird
2. If he gives you the double handed wave, show him a different bird unrelated to the raven situation from 1
3. If he is overbearing in public, simply dump a hot cup of coffee on his shoes
4. If he ever calls you, take your phone gently out of your pocket, throw it on the ground, stomp on it 3 times, summon a witch, have the witch breath fire onto it, pick up the phone with your bare hands, put it in a ziplock bag, throw the bag against a concrete wall 47 times, gently take the phone out of the bag, dismiss the previously summoned witch, put the phone into a piñata, take it to a kids party and have then beat the ebelivin bejeesus out of it, take the piñata and slice it in half with a replica of Longclaw (Jon Snow’s sword in GOT), take whatever is remaining of the phone to NASA and have them ship it out on the next mission to Mars. Then, blow up the insignificant planet known as Mars.

 

The end.

 

Tom, thanks for letting me have this. You are a good friend (good, not great, do better). Also, let me die alone in peace.

 

Landon

Because I’m a good person with no underlying emotional instabilities or social inadequacies, I tend to refer to any girl Landon starts seeing by a name other than her own. He may refer to a girl as Lauren, but to me she’ll always be Thelma. Kathryn? Irene. Emma? Avril. Madison? Charlotte.

Which brings us to the topic of Nina. Or more accurately – which brings us to the topic of Sara.

I have realized that texting “How’s Sara” to someone while that person is on a date with someone technically named Nina might not be the best idea. Especially if “Technically Nina” happens to be in a position to read that text when it gets received.

I’ve also learned that attempting to explain me to another person with absolutely no context is an effort in futility. Apparently weird friends who refuse to acknowledge people by their real names, blog about another man, and attempt to replace electricity with candlelight and a series of strategically placed mirrors, do not come off as the best explanation for why you’re receiving a “How’s Sara” text when on a date with “Theoretically Nina”.

Landon, I’m sorry. You didn’t need her anyway. Or other friends. Or colleagues. And at some point, we really need to talk about your family.

 

 

The previous Saturday, in honor of my birthday I was bombarded by friendship and acknowledged by Peanut Butter in a hitherto unseen manner.

However, this rarely seen (but inherently obvious) affection was partially negated by the following actions:

• Him ordering the chicken mole for dinner, and pronouncing the “Mole” the same way one might pronounce the name of a blind, reclusive animal, or a particularly off-putting skin growth
• His obvious impatience in sitting at the Wendy’s drive-thru, and his strong reluctance to start referring to it as “Our Place”
• Him getting so drunk so quickly that he needed to be driven home in his own car (an action colloquially referred to as a “Plastered Peanut Butter”)

Despite the above, this aggressive display of friendship will need to be repayed tenfold. He has fully released something that cannot be stopped, and which nobody particularly wants – something most people refer to as “Ughhhhhh”: My friendship. Stay tuned!