Listen green apple, there’s something I need to get off my chest.
I’ve never liked you.
I know that in my childhood I may have given the impression I liked you – I remember gladly accepting you as if you were just as delicious as any other candy – but, green apple, you have to understand something: sugar is sugar, especially when you’re a child.
Please, don’t act like you’re surprised. I’m sure that a lot of people genuinely enjoy you as a candy flavour, but the truth is most people avoid you like you’re some sort of horrible disease. Imagine this: you’re in the middle of enjoying a package of delicious fruit flavoured candies — you’ve got your oranges, your watermelons, your grapes, even sometimes your bananas — then all of a sudden you draw the dud of the bunch, a tart, sour candy that sucks all the joy out of eating food that is bad for you. A candy flavour that defies even the greatness of being classified as such, the loathed green apple.
This is no mere substance from the earth. It’s not an organic flavour, but rather a robot flavour engineered by aliens, galaxies far away from us. Most candy flavours are delectable and well meaning but green apple, oh, green apple is evil and conniving. It has sinister intentions down to the very core of its soul.
How does that sound? It’s all true you know.
I’ve known you for a long time, green apple. Long enough to remember all the great things you’ve managed to sully throughout the years. Let’s review the list: Kool Aid? Yeah, you ruined that. Tic Tacs? Yes, disgusting. Jelly Belly? Worse than their coffee flavour. Mentos? If the goal is to make my breath smell worse then, yes, I will take a green apple flavoured mentos. Jolly Rancher? That’s a slam dunk of awful green apple taste.
But let’s forget those other foods, shall we? This whole debacle got started when, a number of weeks ago, I procured a box of Jones soda. It was what’s known as a “variety pack” and it includes the likes of root beer, cream soda, orange cream and, yes, the dreaded green apple.
You see, back then I was a little more naïve. I believed in the kindness of strangers and I honestly thought that green apple wasn’t all that bad. Then the drinks started dwindling from my fridge. Whenever I offered a guest their choice of soda they all, as they should have, went straight for the root beer, the cream soda or the orange cream. Finally, after weeks of dreading this moment, I was left with a fridge full of green apple Jones soda.
They just sat there, mocking me.
Grimacing, I would slam one back, my only solace the knowledge that soon there would be one less green apple soda in my fridge. I would try to pawn them off on strangers, random passersby, but no one would take them.
You know that’s the worst part, green apple? It’s not even like you’re one of the peripheral candy flavours like honeydew or mango. You’re one of the headliners, one of the elite-sweet. In fact, I bet you’re the bully of the group; orange, strawberry and grape all tremble in fear when green apple is around. Just like the stuffy dean in all those college comedies I watch, you hate fun and you hate parties.
Well I for one am standing up to you, green apple. I will not be bullied any longer. Consider this my warning shot, from now on we’re rival gangs. You’re the Jets and I’m the Sharks. That’s all there is to it.
I will train others to spurn your advances, green apple. Inch by inch, day by day, I will lead the charge against you, the foulest of all candy flavours. Your reign of terror is over, green apple.
People will point to this day as the first time they stood up and demanded justice from their sweet edibles.