Just Leave the Money on the Table...

Have you ever wondered what it must be like to be a piece of fruit at a grocery store?
Everyone that comes in pokes and prods and molests you...and you don't even get dinner first.
Hundreds of germy, dirty hands will do whatever they please to you - smell you, pull at you, drop you and abuse you, and you have no choice but to sit there and let it happen.
You had no choice in how you would end up, never dreamed about being in a grocery store being violated day after day. And if you happen to be one of the "lucky" ones that gets picked to go home with someone; then much to your surprise, the cruel fate that awaits you is worse than your daily life in the store.
For just when you're feeling safe, nestled cozily in a basket of other chosen fruits, you will be mercilessly slaughtered, your skin cut away and your insides thrown out - and then your flesh will be feasted upon by hordes of people who have no feelings for you, but only of how good you taste in their mouth.
And if, for some superficial reason, you happen to be left in the store because you are bruised or not as brightly coloured as some of the others, you will be heartlessly thrown away or composted without a second thought.

No, my friends, the life of a piece of fruit isn't all bright lights and fantasy, but rather a cruel, heartless life of disappointment and death.

Now excuse me while I go slice myself a sweet piece of pineapple.