Maybe it’s because I’ve got Apple on the brain, or maybe it’s just because I’m in a pissy mood today and wanted to talk to someone as bitter as I am, I really don’t know. But regardless the reasoning, I hung out with my old friend Green Apple this afternoon. And dude, let me tell you, that is one cranky, tart bastard. I knew there was a reason we hadn’t hung out in a while, but I couldn’t quite remember why, the fog of time had drifted in, unsettling my reserve of dedicated memory space to my time spent with Green Apple. I wish had taken more gingko or played more of those cardboard matching games as a child, because I really could have used those memories. I really could have used a warning.
Chilling with Green Apple always starts off innocently enough. You think to yourself, oh he can’t be so bad, he’s an apple. After all, apples are sweet, delicious creatures, grown for their juice and their ability to ward off roaming packs of feral doctors (everyone knows it only takes one apple a day to keep your home safe from rabid rheumatologists). But those apples you’re picturing in your head, the ones that keep juice boxes plump, the ones that keep children satiated during snack time, the ones that vaporize intruder immunologists like the sun turning vampires to dust, those are all RED apples. They’re sure as shit not Green Apple. Green Apple ain’t here to play. He’s here to make trouble, snort cocaine, and hump bitches (definitely his words, not mine). And he’s all out of bitches and blow.
In a span of sixteen minutes, give or take an imaginary amount of enough time to make this parable of personification remotely plausible, Green Apple unleashed a horror show on everyone around us. I watched him tie a woman’s stiletto shoelaces together (I know stilettos don’t have shoe laces, but imagine if they DID), replace an old man’s glasses with two empty toilet paper rolls taped together, and trek through a freshly carpeted house wearing nothing but blood-soaked slaughterhouse boots. But that’s not even the worst. Nope. I watched that deviant sourpuss put a lit cigar in an infant child’s birthday cake like a candle, set a up a blowing box fan across the table from the child, gather the child’s family to stand around the child singing “Happy Birthday”, and proceed to tell the poor kid to blow out his candle, the result a billowing cloud of cigar smoke sent blowing back into the baby’s face via box fan.
Yup, dude is a straight up jerk. Don’t hang out with Green Apple.