Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.
Sadly, because of a an ill-timed price drop by a competing Japanese organic grower, Peter never sold a single pepper. His agricultural business suffered an insurmountable loss, and he declared bankruptcy soon afterwards. The peppers rotted in a warehouse in Des Moines, and Peter took a janitorial job at a local software company. Abandoned by his wife, he had no friends and took no lovers, as there wasn’t a single woman or man who wanted to get near his hideous brine-soaked hands.
And so Peter Piper died a poor, bitter, lonely, and yet extremely alliterative man.
He is survived by his estranged wife, who currently sells seashells by the seashore.