The Peanuts Grow Up

Just a little satire some friends and I came up with about what the Gang *might* be like as adults {if they had grown up in Frisco}. I had fleshed it out a bit from what we had thought up and it came out a bit ridiculous, and hopefully a little funny.

 

The Peanuts Grow Up

A Satire

By Matthew Stohler

 

{This is a satire only and NOT a reflection of the

author’s great respect for Mr. Charles Schultz.}

 

Could this be the last act,

The final curtain,

For the comics industry?

You decide.

Charlie:

      Turning to a life of crime at an early age, this self-proclaimed “sports fanatic” is now in a maximum-security psyche ward, never to return to the outside world. Unknown to anyone at the time, he started killing at the age of 15. His first victim, as with the many who followed, was a red-haired prostitute. When he first approached her – according to unnamed sources – she was heard to laugh about his round, bald head. She was never seen alive again.

      When he was finally caught, Chucky Brown – as his gangsta buddies call him – confessed to murdering redheaded prostitutes every few months after that, detailing his crimes in full. He’d traveled from city to city, all over the country with his crew, whom he called “The Peanuts Gangstas.” But, unknown to this pathetic excuse of a mirror of his childhood friends, Chucky left their homeless camp in each city to murder another red-haired prostitute. When he was finally arrested – back in San Francisco where his life of crime began – one eloquent individual in Chuckie Brown’s gang of wannabe toughs said: “Wow, that’s a trip.”

      Chucky Brown himself had this to say: “All I wanted was for that Little Red-Haired Girl to like me when we were kids. But she would never even say ‘Hi.’ I talked to a psychiatrist about it... Well, Lucy, but she always wanted to be one. Except I had to start stealing other kids’ lunch money to keep seeing her. I don’t think she really wanted me to get better because she was always trying to show me up, especially in sports.”

      Before sentencing, his attorney had this to say (translated): “My client is crazy, plain and simple. I consulted with the psychiatrist who knew him best and that is what she told me. He doesn’t belong in prison; he belongs in a loony bin with all the other psychos.”

      The judge himself declared: “You’re a lunatic, Chucky Brown!”

Lucy:

      A well-to-do psychiatrist in uptown San Francisco? She was. But few knew about her secret life. Not family, not friends nor the wealthy clients she saw every day. Only one person knew of it, a now deceased San Francisco concert pianist, shot by his own hand.

      She had been obsessed with him for years. When she wasn’t with a patient or in the public eye for charities, this healer of the mind murdered men. Not just any man. These men were young, blonde musicians, eager to please those bearing promises of helping their careers. And for that hope, many were slaughtered, mutilated and left naked in the back alleys and parking lots of San Francisco.

      But Lucy made a mistake while dropping off the body of her 7^th and final victim. In the back corner of this particular parking lot slept a homeless beggar. She didn’t see him smoking a glass pipe because his dirt and filth blended in with the poor condition of the building he often slept against. Nor, if she had, would she have thought that this dirty street bum would have recognized her. A source in the police department revealed an incident report. This report was revealed in public by Lucy’s attorney in an attempt to appeal, but it was too late, for Lucy had been put to death the week before:

-Police Officer (PO): What did you see, Pig Pen?

-Witness (Wit): She got outta that Lincoln an’ went to the trunk. Then she looked around but she never saw me. No siree. ‘Cuz I was hid behind my nice soft quilt. My friend makes ‘em an’ he gives me one an’ some money if I let him, you know, to me.

-PO: That’s fine, Pig Pen. Tell me what else you saw.

-Wit: Well, she pulled something heavy outta the trunk, all wrapped in a quilt like mine. ‘Cept it was a lot cleaner. She dragged it right over to the building on the other side of that little light where I sleep an’ just left it there. Well, when she was gone, I looked in the quilt an’ saw a dead, naked guy. I knew he was dead ‘cuz there was blood an’ cuts all over him an’ his fingers were all cut off. She stuffed ‘em in his butt. All 10. I checked.

-PO: What did you do then, Pig Pen?

-Wit: Well I called you at that number you gave me to report drug sellers. Can I have my 10 bucks now?”

-PO: In a moment, Pig Pen. Did you recognize the woman?

-Wit: I sure did. Her name is Lucy. I knew her when we were kids. She scared me, scared all of us. She was bossy an’ mean an’ she charged us a whole nickel just so she could tell us we’re crazy. She’s always been a bad, bad person. Especially to her little brother. He’s the one who gives me the quilts for, you know.

-PO: Very good, Pig Pen. Here’s your money. You can go now.

      After sentencing, Lucy’s attorney claimed that his client wouldn’t appeal. With that he had closed his briefcase and left the courtroom with his inebriated assistant and friend.

      When informed of his statement to the judge, Lucy said: “I’ll kill that stupid beagle! It’s not fair! I was just a kid when I signed that stupid contract! We all signed it! He said he would protect us! Stupid Beagle! And that… That Pig Pen! Just wait until I get outta here! I’ll show that twit Charlie too! We’ll see who kills the best! HA!”

      Lucy’s childhood teacher stated (translated): “She was always such a good girl. Courteous and considerate, always helping the other kids. She had this cute little stand in the grass lot across from the school. I used to sit and watch her from the teacher’s lounge. Every recess she listened patiently while the kids talked about their problems. The poor dear had to charge them a nickel so they wouldn’t feel guilty about taking up her recess time. I just never believed she’d come to this. I think that filthy little beggar was lying. He was always such a dirty little boy. Poor Lucy.”

Schroeder:

      This famous San Francisco concert pianist was found dead with a gun in one hand. In the other was clutched a photo of the lifelong stalker of his behind prison bars. Autopsy reports show large amounts of speed throughout his body and lacking in basic nutrition.

      A neighbor said: “Oh, he never slept. He’d walk around in his back yard, twiddling his fingers and mumbling about someone coming to get him. Not that I was snooping, mind you. I just happened to glance over.”

      Audiences the world over say praises of his devotion to Beethoven while behind-the-scenes sources reveal: “He was a driven man alright. Drove him nuts when that gal called him, interrupting his practices. I guess he just couldn’t handle it.”

      Drugs, battered women and now suicide. This is a sad day for the San Francisco Symphony.

Snoopy/Woodstock:

      The best of friends. The most tragic of endings. During their innocent youth, they were often seen together. They laughed and pretended to do a variety of jobs. No one realized how their adult lives would mirror this childhood play. From the playgrounds and empty lots of San Francisco, these two became statistics for joblessness. Yet Snoopy was far more intelligent than ordinary dogs.

      He’d finished law school and became an attorney. Briefly. Snoopy was drawn into the drug world by his alcoholic/drug addicted friend’s sordid life. Six months after passing the bar, Snoopy blew it. Woodstock had introduced the legal beagle to a drinking companion, a drug dealer who pushed his wares in the Tenderloin district of San Francisco. The young beagle began doing coke during his college years.

      Wanting to make it on his own, Snoopy contacted some of his childhood friends, reminding them of the contracts they’d signed as playmates. According to said contracts, Snoopy would be their sole legal representative should he pass the bar.

      One co-ed who knew him in college said: “Snoopy always joked about becoming President. He even had this cute little motto: Vote for the Legal Beagle of the People.”

      When pressed for an opinion on that, she said: “A dog for President? I dunno. I mean he’s cute and all but I don’t think Id vote for him. Though he might be better than what we have now. I dunno.”

      But such a dream wasn’t to be. Snoopy had overdosed for the first time during a break in a client’s trial on a drug charge. He was rushed to the emergency room at General and another attorney was assigned to his client. Incidently, Pig Pen was found guilty in that case and re-taken into custody by the arresting officer. Said officer did not want his name mentioned here, but is often referred to by his initials by various drug offenders.

      After that fiasco, Snoopy went from one dead-end job to another, often followed by his alcoholic/drug addicted friend Woodstock. The two were commonly seen in heated arguments and were often arrested for disorderly conduct.

      Surprisingly, Snoopy hadn’t lost his license to practice law and came out of semi-forced retirement to represent two of his puppy hood friends in separate trials. When Lucy’s trial was done and the murderess executed, the legal beagle attempted to clear her name by bringing forth the questionable report told by a homeless drug user to a drug enforcement officer who is known on the street by his initials. The judge denied the attempt and had Snoopy arrested for misrepresentation.

      In Jail, he once again met up with Woodstock, who had been arrested on drug charges by the above-mentioned officer. They were celled up together and one night began fighting with one another. Before the guards could get to them, Woodstock pulled a shiv from under his mat and struck a fatal cut into Snoopy’s abdomen. With the last of his rapidly-draining strength, the beagle lunged forward and bit the bird’s head off in mid-flight.

      Seen by his admirers as “witty, cute and intelligent,” Snoopy’s close circle of friends were relieved by the ending of this dog’s life.

Pig Pen:

      The dirty boy of childhood had become a filthy beggar as an adult in San Francisco and taken to smoking crack, shooting heroin and selling himself for tidbits. He was recently found dead in a gay movie theater, unwashed for months with a glass pipe in one hand and a dirty needle in the other. Scars from multiple abscesses riddled his body.

      A teacher from his childhood said (translated): “He was always such a dirty little boy.”

      None of his former friends cared to comment.

Linus:

      The lovable child who had been misunderstood throughout his life, Linus was well-known for his fondness of blankets. As he grew, this fondness turned to quilt-making, which earned him a barely livable income in San Francisco. But that wasn’t all.

      Having finally given in to the wiles of his best friend’s sister, Linus was devastated when she ran off with a San Francisco acid punk rock band who called themselves “The Great Pumpkin.” He swore off all women after that and began dressing in women’s clothes. Now, with fat hanging out all over, Linus can be seen on the streets of San Francisco wearing miniskirts and tight, frilly blouses.

      When asked about his friend, Pig Pen said: “His sister did it to him. She was always bossing him around and taking his blanket, calling it stupid. But he’s my friend. He gives me quilts like this one for, you know.”

      Linus’ childhood teacher said (translated): “Linus was always a sensitive boy. Lucy tried to help him, to steer him onto the right path. But it was just too much for the poor girl to handle. I always knew he’d turn out…gay. Always sucking his thumb like it was…one of those. Then he started hanging out with that Pig Pen. I just knew it would come to no good. That Pig Pen was always such a dirty little boy.”

      When asked about Lucy’s execution, Linus said: “My sister wouldn’t have wanted me to comment on that.” (There was a smile on his face as he said it however.)

Sally:

      Little sister of convicted serial killer Charlie “Chucky” Brown and one-time lover of San Francisco quilt-maker Linus, Sally’s life came to a tragic end as a drug-addled sex-toy of the mediocre San Francisco acid punk rock band “The Great Pumpkin.” The six-member group refused to comment.

Marci:

      This quiet, shy young woman during the day, became a prostitute wearing a red-haired wig at night. By an unfortunate set of circumstances, she became Charlie “Chucky” Brown’s final victim. In her last hour of life, Marci had been seen coming out of the hotel of a regular customer on 6^th street in San Francisco. She was last seen entering a nearby alley where she was found slashed to death and her head kicked in the next morning.

      When police entered her hotel room on Market st., they found the place littered with drug paraphernalia and the walls covered with photos of Charlie “Chucky” Brown. The pages of her diary spoke of a masochistic yearning for this previously petty criminal and felt he would someday return for her. He did in a sense.

      Recognizing the photos as that of a petty their and constant “guest” of the holding cells at 8^th and Bryant, police went to the known homeless campsite of the wannabe “Peanuts Gangstas” to speak to their leader. Chucky Brown had claimed no knowledge of Marci’s murder, yet had become agitated when the circumstances surrounding the death were told to him. And when the redheaded female partner of one of the officers approached, Chucky Brown lunged at her in unrestrained anger. It was while being held in a jail cell – after being severely beaten – that he confessed to his murder spree.

      Very few remembered Marci and those who did wouldn’t comment.

Peppermint Patti:

      When this lesbian biker – back in San Francisco for the annual Dykes on Bikes rally – was asked about her friend Charlie, she said: “Chuck? Yeah I heard about him. Shame, he was an okay kid. Kind of a pansy though. He tried to kiss me a lot, but I didn’t let ‘im. I’m not that way, ya know. I almost got it on with my friend Marci. Good thing I didn’t. Saw her a while back. She’s one weird woman.

Little Red-Haired Girl:

      When asked for a comment about her childhood schoolmates, this wealthy red-haired widow – who asked that her name not be mentioned here – living on Pacifica heights in San Francisco said: “I don’t really know them. Never spoke to any of them. Ever. It was a mistake, you see. Being in that filthy public school, I mean. I was supposed to go to a private school but my records must have been switched. And that round-headed bald kid, he was the worst. He was always watching me, you see. Stalking me. It doesn’t surprise me that he’s psychotic.”

      During the (thankfully) brief interview, this wealthy red-haired widow was constantly holding $100 bills up to her bright red hair as she looked in her hand mirror.

      And so ends this episode of “Where Are They Now.”

      Thank you for joining us.

 

End