It was in the early autumn of 1981 that I saw my first Goober pea. It was one of the hairless variety, clean and smooth as a baby's bottom. The pea, in fact, belonged to an entire 12 oz can of rotting peas that sat virtually unnoticed on a grocer's shelf for almost 50 years.  

Soon after opening the can, a local dog ventured to try it, which was rather unfortunate for Tri-Pod Sammy (named as such because he only had three legs, one having been shot off for eating chickens as a pup) because he unexpectedly died the next morning.  No official autopsy was ever performed, although a few farmers did poke the corpse with sticks for a bit while offering concocted conspiracy theories, but the natural conclusion is yours to draw.  Some tell witness that they never did see a more foul and rotten death, as the death of poor Tri-Pod Sammy.  Old Man Barb, last living person to see Sammy alive, said that the dying breath on that dog was killing small flies.

Anyhow with only a single pea left, I decided to study it closely. On the bottom I found a few small black spots, prodding me to label this pea as being of the  "black-spotted" variety.  I took copious notes at the time, and as I carefully studied the pea I found myself slowly consumed with idea of tasting it. Oh just to try it! It had the smell of a pea that had sat untouched, unbothered, much like a familiar old shoe, lost in the closet for years. The smell lingered in my brain for days...I had to eat this pea, but how to best proceed?

To detoxify the pea I pickled it in a Kenyan Olive Oil for two weeks and a day.  I figured that would be long enough to kill anything that was alive under those ominous black spots.  Then I fried it in pure animal fat and then left it to sit on a windowsill to cool.  Upon inspecting the pea a week later, I noticed that the spots had multiplied!  What was this madness?  Had I invented a scientifically repeatable method for black-spotting peas?  I racked my brain and seriously considered filing an application with the patent office.

Although scientists would later later confirm that the spots were a by-product of the aging process, it was a grand time while the excitement lasted.

At last the big day had arrived.  It was time to eat the pea!  Family and friends alike were assembled for the occasion.  The National Pea Association even sent a photographer to cover the story, which proved to be a big mistake because he just didn't have the stomach for it, having violently barfed on a small baby after watching me eat the Black Spotted Goober Pea.  By then I was thoroughly enjoying myself and all the attention, but when I saw that barf fly, I immediately  began to gag on the pea.  Lucky for me and all assembled, I coughed up that pea just in time to chew it to smithereens.

It tasted squishy, old, and mostly lacking of flavor. Except for the black spots!  They were marvelous!  I knew then that I was going to die a rich man, because I had the keys to heaven.  I had a repeatable recipe for black spotting Goober Peas. Easy to digest with no ill side effects, and those delicious black spots!  I knew I had a winner.  Babies would love them!  Dogs would love them!  Old people would love them!

I soon started making black spotted peas by the barrel.  I found that more quantity could be produced by purchasing the Goober Peas in 55-gallon drums, spreading them out on a tarp, and letting them sit in the sun for 2 months.  I eventually learned to roll them over every four to six days, and alas, I was never able to refine or perfect the process beyond that small adjustment.

During the aging process, some peas became entirely black, due to the spots eventually growing into one another.  Those are the best, the cream of the crop,  and are sold for thirty cents more per can than the 60% spotted variety.  These are especially popular with those without teeth, and they were sold in most stores in a can with an all black label and a rotted tooth logo.

Eventually the Black Spotted Goober Pea Empire became to much for one person to manage.  The company went public in the late 1980s only to collapse in 1991. It seems that a catastrophic and sudden increase in the mortality rate was occurring in those regions where the peas where served regularly in the public school system.  This was later shown to be cafeteria asbestos poisoning, agitated from the ceilings of public schools by the powerful gases emitted by the cooking and warming of delicious and nutritious Black Spotted Goober Peas.

But the tide had turned from Peas to Edible Pet Rocks, almost overnight.  If only I had seen the Edible Pet Rock idea coming!  The ship passed me by sometime in the middle of the night, and the pea factory proceeded to collapse into ruins.  Now all that remains of the Pea Empire are a few rusty cans of Peas, and a handful of lawsuits.  It is surprising, but the remaining Canned Peas are still as edible and tasty as they were when they were only 5 years old.

Because of EPA bans that are still in effect regarding human consumption of the peas, I am now trying to determine why frogs fed a constant diet of Goober Peas are statistically more likely to bear tad poles who are born cross eyed. There also appears to be a 4% decrease in the pitch made by croaking frogs who were made fat on peas. These questions are responsible for hundreds of millions in research grants from the government each and every year, thanks to detailed proposals submitted by myself and a small faction of pea loving scientists. Animal Rights Activists are vigorously protesting the all-pea frog diet, citing cruel and unusual punishment to a life form other than human. 

Give me a break!  Frog Intelligence experts have assured me that the laboratory frogs are happy, contented, and when professionally polled show a generally higher level of satisfaction than similar frogs of equivalent education who are living in sewers.

In fact only one frog has had its life abruptly terminated, in a most unusual freak accident.  As the first rays of the morning sun began so scatter about the laboratory and its neighboring support facilities, a single frog named Herb managed to squeeze through the bars of his cage, and began to explore his surroundings.  The follow up investigation revealed that after gorging himself on left over Experimental Pea Slop #109, Herb hopped over to the scanning electron microscope, which had been left on from the previous day.  His picture, a close-up I might add, was found the next day on the screen, his image so perfectly captured in the moment of death.  It is tough to describe to intense look of horror in Herb's eyes as he realized the scanning amplitude frequency had been set to 400 millibars of illumination, and not the 20-25 millibars the machine is normally supposed to be set to. We know this because his burned out little eyes were still locked on the amplitude readout.

To the sheer horror of the first lab tech on duty the next day, the Frog Feeding and Examination Room was reeking of death. Herb was found, fried on the electron microscope, amongst the constant roar of over 500 caged and croaking panicked frogs.  An autopsy on Herb revealed a small case of cross-eyedness, several tongue spots, and of course a incinerated exterior.

And myself, of course, merely a shell of a man, bumping around by day, telling anyone who will listen about the Lore of the Pea, and how close I came to Building My Empire, from a single can of Peas.