When the bean is green and the bean is soggy. Sometimes I forget to zip up my fly and pass it off as a fashion statement. Sometimes I sit in a bush and throw gunpowder poppers at the feet of unsuspecting victims while yelling, “shots fired, shots fired!!!” I lick the television screen every time I see a food commercial, but the quiet man tells me no. Sometimes I look at the meat on my plate and imagine if the dead animal used to like cotton candy. It makes me sad.

I had a dream that the bad man was bullying me, but then I found his LEGO collection. I slammed all of his sets onto the ground while he watched in horror. Don’t forget that I like green beans.

Within a matter of seconds, my stomach went hollow. I felt bad. Bad because I destroyed his LEGOs, and I understand the feeling of putting work into a masterpiece just for it to be trashed like it didn’t have any sentimental value to another being. He looked up and told me I could never be a green bean.

After this revelation, I ventured off to the Tibetan mountains, where I learned to be zen. Once again, I am a big fan of green beans. There, the “Master Sensei Daimyo” taught me how to control the human body to its fullest potential. He told me the secret was all in the green beans.

I learned to blast lasers out of my eyes and breathe fire. Immediately, I went back to America to terrorize the local children. Their parents found me and tied me to a jagged boulder using the entrails of my son. A venomous snake dripped poison onto my face while I writhed in pain. I told them sorry, and they let me go.

Foolish mortals they are. I crushed them into a ball with the power of my muscular, oiled up physique and tossed the ball three times across the globe until it lost momentum and landed in a basketball hoop, not touching the rims.

GREEN BEAN WATCHU MEAAAAAAAN!!!!