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I Will Never Wish Baby Nut A Happy Birthday

Every day of the Baby Nut's life has been literal hell on Earth. Murder hornets, locust plagues, THE NOVEL CORONAVIRUS. None of these things ever happened under the ever-watchful eye of Mr. Peanut. He died, we wept, little did we know the pandora's box his son would be opening upon his arrival to this realm. Can we rule out regicide? Was regicide at play here? I think regicide is certainly on the table. All I know is for hundreds of years Mr. Peanut kept us safe. There wasn't a single global pandemic under his reign. Then Baby Nut shows up on the scene and, near instantly, we can no longer go outside. Schools shut down, sports canceled, masks and signage sales skyrocket through the glass ceiling. And what does this Baby Nut do during these trying times? Forges a fake I.D. so he can go get tanked. He's not even wearing a monocle. Another trust fund baby leeching off the tit of the name he inherited, living only for self without a care for the rest of humanity. So, no, I will not wish the Nut a happy birthday. Mostly because it's not his birthday. We saw you be born from the fire and ash of that car accident in February. I don't care how much you've grown since then your birthday takes place during the winter. You can't just start declaring it your birthday in August just because the weight of the world on your shoulders is driving you to the bottle. You get no sympathy from me, Nut. Either come up with a vaccine or lay your head underneath the executioner's blade. I've no time for your pity party.