The Peanut Farmer
December 2, 2025
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You want to know when the cracks in the foundation started showing? It wasn’t last week. It was back when I was a young man, watching the most powerful man
Explore raw, unfiltered reflections on life, loss, identity, and love. From monogamy to madness, these real-life stories pull no punches — and they just might hit home.
You want to know when the cracks in the foundation started showing? It wasn’t last week. It was back when I was a young man, watching the most powerful man
We were in that “wormy” stage. You know the one. We weren’t “together,” not officially. There were no titles, no ring, no promises. But we were connecting. And I’d learned,
I went to a company party last night. The usual quiet, respectable, and completely boring affair where we all pretend we like each other for the sake of the free
I remember Kelly. She was a little spark plug from my Amalia’s days, back when I was “separated” but still technically married to the wreckage. She was spunky, cheerleader energy,
There was this little Mormon girl named Kelly. We were on-again, off-again, a beautiful, chaotic pendulum. She was one of the greatest teachers I ever had. She was… advanced. Coming
I wasn’t looking for a miracle when I moved from the Sedona fog down to the Scottsdale heat; I was just looking for a fresh start and a drink that
You spend twenty years in a marriage, and you get used to a certain level of… service. Whoopie three, four times a day. Your body gets programmed. When that gets
The rot didn’t start with the politicians or the media. It started in the goddamn living room. It started when the quiet, respectable, and completely rigid Traditional Family Structure—the one
I grew up in that strange, beautiful, and completely fucked-up pocket of the 80s where nobody had really figured out how to raise a kid, but everyone was damn sure
remember reading about this artist. A sculptor. A crazy, beautiful bastard who would just sit there, in a cold studio, staring at a giant, rough block of white marble for
We were twenty. We were stupid. We were filled with that special, dangerous kind of confidence that only comes from a pocket full of Navy pay and a belly full
You have to understand, for the first part of my “adult” life, I was a beer man. This was back when I was working for the Japanese, back when I
