Oranges

One day, Ed and Al were sitting quietly, reading, when Ed brought up a rather unusual subject.

"Ya know what makes me real glad, Al?"

"What, Brother?"

"Well, I'm just really glad I'm not an orange."

"An orange, Brother?"

"Well, yeah."

"Um, whyyyy?"

So Ed started with a dramatic flair, "Well, think about it. At first, it's really nice being an orange. I mean, you're a pretty little bud that smells really good, and you're just hanging out, being an orange, getting big and round, when one day, this giant- DON'T YOU SAY A WORD! - comes up and plucks you off the branch you grew up on. Then, you're shoved in some basket crowded in with a bunch of other oranges you've never met, and put in a big crate and rattled around with those strange oranges, and then you have to be piled in a big pile, the lucky ones on top, but let's say you were unlucky and got put on the bottom! Then, you'd have to be stifled on the bottom of the pile of oranges, living in discomfort, squashed, desperately hoping that someone will come and take you away from this misery, and finally, your wish comes true! You can finally breathe, no longer stifled by the weight of those orange strangers, and think freedom has come at last! Then, just when you start to feel safe again, you are abruptly plucked from your safe haven to be brought to a new hell, this time a hard, uncomfortable, shopping cart, and then a sweaty, oppressive plastic bag to be rattled around again in the trunk of someone's car, and then thrown in someone's fruit basket. By now, you, the poor little orange are too scared to hope that the pain may be over, but need to hope against hope that it may be, nonetheless. Now, another large, strange, scary hand has stolen you from your resting place, this time, to end the suffering once and for all, but at a terrible price! This hand is the hand that tears off your skin, rips apart your orangey, segment-y insides, and chews you into ribbons, swallowing the tart nectar running through your orangey veins, proceeding to be digested in the bitter acid juices of the human stomach! You can't tell me that sounds at all pleasant!"

Ed finished his half-page rant on the plight of oranges breathless, red in the face, and with the pride of a celebrity who has just used their soapbox to say something of very great import. He looked at Al expectantly.

"Brother…"

"Yeah, Al?"

"You need professional help."

"Hey! You have to admit, I made a pretty good case for the trials of an orange's lifespan! I mean, aren't you glad you're not an orange now?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"BUT WHAT?! You know what? Just- no, nevermind! If you decide the plight of the orange is worthy of discussion, I'll be in my room, NOT eating an orange!"

Very quietly, Al said to himself, "Wow, he seems as sensitive about this as when you call him 'short'."

"I heard that! I am NOT short!"

"That's not what I… oh, never mind. Dumbass."