dearest peabody-the-pancreas is running to the finish line attempting to complete his insulin production run. he wears a lovely top hat and long jacket.
terrifying tonya [harding] t-cell is on his 'tail' and takes her gold figure skate off to slice our sweet insulin-making man into smithereens.
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand peabody thinks he can make it, but alas, for now he is forced out of the insulin production line and into what i am calling fearful hibernation. or running with his tail between his legs? well, at least for now.
that is, until his friend nancy niacinamide and gary green tea can act like the mafia asshole antioxidants they are. cos you know, the mafia likes suits, too.
so i saw my naturopathic physician yesterday (the most awesome woman) and she thought the idea of turning peabody into a badass-tophat-wearing-gun-toting-t-cell attacking...(wait, re-educator is what i will call him) is a good idea.
go peabody! cross that finish line! we don't want no bum betas!
[insert heavy middle-eastern accent here.]