I think what's wrong with me is that my dad loved making boiled peanuts but when you say "boiled peanuts" in a thick Mississippi Delta accent it sounds like "bald penis" and we were forbidden from acknowledging that
My dad, internally: "The children must be fed nutriment. I have in my possession a very large pot and a propane burner; I shall make a sojourn to the grocer's and procure peanuts."
My dad, aloud: "'Ey, y'all wansum bald penis?"
All of us, internally: "Ah yes, such a delectable summertime treat that will be."
All of us, aloud: "'Ey, shitchea. Daddy boutta bal up some bald penis!"
I've never been so suspicious in my life.
The grocery store and I have no idea what is going on. Place looks like Bruce Banner couldn't find the one thing he came for.
It's gotten more threatening somehow.
Place: you’re wandering through the market and discover a series of handwritten signs saying “MEAT ->”