text: Boiled peanuts are the best. The best way to get good quality boiled peanuts is to go and drive down the highway in the armpit of Alabama and find a place that looks like it sells meth and has a plywood sign with the words "\[southern name (Buck, Rog, etc)\]'s Boiled Peanut". The sort of place that reeks with a cacophony of the harsh scent of pine trees, goat dung(and just dung in general), sulphur, chickens, gunpowder, and maybe just a smidge of meth and weed. The sort of place that is about 50 miles from nowhere and is just a barn with three walls, a rusty, beaten up 1950's camper with about half a coat of paint, yellow-brown curtians with flowers on them, and a small oak tree growing through the hood, A shopping cart with a lawnmower engine lashed onto the side with bungee cords for some godforsaken reason, and a old man about of about 50-60 years with a beard wearing stained overalls and no shirt sitting next to a potbellied rusty stove in the three-walled barn. That, my friend is where you will find some of the best boiled peanuts in the whole wide world and if the police show up with a K9 units and non-stanard bullet-proof vests, that is when you no you really got the good stuff. (Yes this happened to me and it was pretty funny). Me and my church youth group were heading to Florida (we are from Georgia so it was quite a bit of a ride) and after we had been on the road for about half an hour we hear a pop followed by a rythmic thud. we pulled over and found that a piece of a chain-link fence had cut through the rear tire of Fr. Roberts car. The Father didn't have a jack so we walked up the road trying to wave someone down. After about 15 minutes a white camper pulled over and the driver offered his assistance. After getting the tire off and putting on the donut tire we were back on the road. After about an hour of driving I had begun to think that you weren't supposed to drive on a donut tire for more than a few minutes, but I decided that I was just an 18 year old knuckle-head and Fr. Robert surely knew how they worked better than me and it was probably a higher quality donut or something. At this point, the donut managed to work itself halfway off the rim and go flat. At the time, we were driving through Alabama when we got the second flat tire. Fr. Tony pulled over at Buck-Peanut Roasted or Boil. (It wasn't an upclass establisment). After being stuck for about half an hour we learned that the tow truck wouldn't arrive for 2 hours. There were just three of us Me, Fred, and Liz in the car plus Fr. Robert. (Names changed of course) So we started calling churches in the area and the second church we called said that they were sending one of their deacons over right now. We were all very happy at the good news and once he arrived we took the wheel off of Fr. Robert's car and drove into town, got lunch and then came back. We pulled in right behind a police SUV with the words "K9 Unit" written on it and one of the police officers was holding what looked like a warrant. Father Robert explained that our car broke down and we were just about to leave. Father Robert was wearing his collar so they knew he was a minister (I am an Anglican) They said that they were just here to talk to Buck and waited for us to leave until they approached him. That is the tale of how I met my church crush (The girl named Liz). She seems pretty cool, and I plan to ask her out in about a month when we go on the same youth group trip again this summer.