The Peanut Butter Incident

When She Don’t Write No More and Therapist Evil first arrived in India, they set up home in Mumbai. They decided it would be a good place to lose themselves for a while, in case anyone was still following. During the course of their eternal quest for alcohol and questionable substances, they met a Dr. Karsey. They never found out what he was a doctor of, but he brewed his own Thara so they didn’t really care. He mentioned a business venture he was starting, selling peanut butter. Sensing an opportunity to make a little cash, the pair offered to help. He set them up with a handcart which they pushed through the streets selling the amusingly named ’Sam n’ Ella ‘s Peanut Butter’. The duo thoroughly enjoyed themselves, they were making money, they got to explore the city and they had an endless supply of mind-bending alcohol. Of course, with these two it was never going to last. They noticed that if they didn’t eat the peanut butter for a day or two, they started to get crankier than usual. Then they noticed that their customers were all regulars, and all desperate by the time they got back round to them. Whilst they quietly stopped eating it themselves, their collective lack of conscience meant they had no problems selling an addictive substance to the general public. It was a guaranteed money maker.
Then the deaths started. At first, people started complaining of feeling ill. Then, rumours started spreading of people’s deaths and some familiar faces disappeared. SheDon’tWriteNoMore and Therapist Evil had started to suspect that Dr. Karsey was not the full ticket. But, they had an easy-going attitude to nutters and let it slide, although surreptitiously making sure they were always armed. After all, their idea of live and let live was staying alive. As the amount of people succumbing to the outbreak of salmonella increased, some began to make the connection to the ‘Sam n’ Ella’s Peanut Butter’. Rumours began to circulate about the two mad women who pushed the cart, and some nasty mutterings were heard. The duo decided that, as the public face of Karsey Enterprises, now would be a good time to move on. When they were due to pick the next consignment up, they took the cart back and told Dr. Karsey that while they had thoroughly enjoyed working for him, they felt it was time to move on to pastures new. Unfortunately, they were followed, and ended up barricaded in the factory with an angry mob at the door. Thankfully, in the best tradition of crazy lunatics and evil geniuses, Dr. Karsey had a secret tunnel through which they escaped. They bid him a fond farewell and hotfooted it out of the city, reflecting that this wasn’t the first time they’d had to escape from an angry mob. As SheDon’t so eloquently put it, “Therapist, we’re gettin’ too old for this shit”.

Return To England

We returned to England via donkey-train and freight ship, travelling anonymously under false passports; we had decided this was the best option after the Peanut Butter Incident. We chose a small rural town where nobody knew us and set up home in a garden shed at the back of an overgrown abandoned allotment. Richard had left us at the dock, promising to be in touch. And so we waited, amusing ourselves selling the paddles we had stolen before leaving Innocence Boarding House. The devil makes work for idle hands, or so the saying goes, and after selling out of paddles we quickly became bored. After some debate and a punch-up, we decided to keep going with the ‘stall-round-the-back-of-the-market’ scheme and started to hunt around for something to sell. It was a fairly small community, so the usual ‘children and pets’ line we had resorted to in the past was out of the question. Eventually, we realised we were living on the answer! The new allotments were only over the hedge and full of lovely fruit and vegetables. It seems we had moved here at exactly the right time of year, and soon had a brisk trade going. As ever with our brilliant schemes, we were soon attracting attention and allotment owners were starting to ask difficult questions like ‘where’s our produce going?’, ‘why are the police doing nothing about these vegetable thieves?’ and ‘who are the two weirdoes at the back of the market and where are they getting their stuff from?’. We didn’t acquire a collapsible stall for nothing, so when the angry mob came looking for us we were away like two greased whippets.