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Thursday, Feb. 27, 2003 @ 6:22 a.m.

I thought it was over.

I thought since it had been so long since the demon of peanut butter had whispered sweet nothings in my ear, that I had beaten him down.

I thought wrong.

Little did I know that the peanut butter demon would stoop to manipulating uniformed clad girl scouts to do his pushing. (Do they get a merit badge for doing his bidding?) I couldn't resist, and with a quick flourish, my pen had initialed a promise to pay $9.00 at a later undisclosed place and time for the honor of receiving 3 boxes of girl scout peanut butter sandwich cookies. The peanut butter demon? He was not through with me yet, oh not by a long shot. He had merely begun the chewing of the Madrigle cud in his demonic mouth. Ruminating over his next temptations. It would not be the last nor most resent visitation where I sensed his forked tongue tickling my ear with his deceptions.

I was in the local grocery minding my own business, picking up a 1/2 gallon of soy milk, if memory serves me right, when I felt, nay more sensed his presence, his forked tongue in my ear reminding me of my recent falling off the wagon, egged on by his brown beret clad pusher. Teasing me, pushing me, seducing me with reminders of peanut butter's fresh roasted aroma, and creamy goodness, throwing me into a near orgasmic fit of hyperventilating peanut butter lust in isle 1 of the grocery. As I grabbed the jar of velvety lusciousness from the shelf I heard the distinct low down, rumbling chuckle of the peanut butter demons laughter reverberating through space and time around me. Yes he had beaten me down, and this morning I'm his bitch. Dipping my girl scout peanut butter cookies in creamy peanut butter before the final dunking in my morning coffee. I'm sorry in advance to all of you that my addiction has hurt. Forgive me my peanut butter whoredom, once more.

* Ha funny, I noted the isle thing when I meant aisle in a later reading. My spelling amuses me as I hope it does you.

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