Okay we apples might not have the same “problems” as say you humans, but we still have them! Yeah, you worry about making enough money to pay for your toys and those fancy skins you all have.

But do you have to think about if you will find yourself stem deep in a mixing bowl staring a beater in it’s grinding little teeth, trying to make you into an apple sauce. The feeling of a sharp pain of the cold steel of a knife, slicing and dicing through your tiny defenseless body, just so they can back you in a warm holiday pie, served with a side of vanilla ice cream to wide-eyed, slobbering dirty pawed monsters. So things seem a bit trivial now don’t they!

I sit here among a pile of my closest friends and family. It is sort of a monarchy of this produce section

You know the type; the ones who waddle through the isle. Wide rounded hips just squeaking past the cereal box’s as a box of Apple Jacks shiver with her passing. Pink rollers in a greasy tangle nest of matted hair. A loose white cloth drapes her stout pear shaped body. Ten chubby digits reaching, clawing at me.

As I said, sitting at the bottom of this pile all I can think about is how bad we have it. The whole bum dope we got with the poison apple and witch thing. It’s not our fault that some old hag had a personal vendetta against a pasty skinned white girl. It’s not our fault that there are psychos out there who thinks it’s fun to slip razors in us and hand us out to kids as treats. I like kids! How would you like to be known as the cause of sin because some naked guy and his women couldn’t just let it go and find some other fruit to eat?

So I sit here among the smaller bruised and discarded apples

Some topics in this essay:
Apple Jacks, , ice cream, vanilla ice cream, vanilla ice, it’s fault,