Fake tans. What is their deal? By all appearances, if I ate you prior to a lengthy sea voyage, I’d be able to ward off scurvy for months.
I don’t mean to condone cannibalism. I’m just sayin’ you look like you’re full of vitamins C, A, B1, and B9, as well as calcium, potassium, phosphorus, magnesium, selenium, fiber, and trace amounts of iron, copper, manganese, and zinc.
Really, I meant it when I said you shouldn’t drink all the Tang. But did you listen? No. Because you were too busy drinking all the Tang. All of it.
Don’t get me wrong, your dedication to the noble monarch butterfly is worthy. As is your life goal to become indistinguishable from the middle 1/3 of a candy corn.
It’s not you, it’s me. I don’t date goldfish. And pumpkins aren’t even the same kingdom as me, so that’s right out. My princess is in another castle.
I’m not trying to be mean. I’m just trying to suggest that fake tans, in addition to possibly causing cancer, don’t look particularly good. And I think it would be a shame for you to look silly AND have cancer. Is that what you want? I sure hope not. That’s a terrible aspiration.
I loved a girl once. She was an Oompa Loompa, and she was something special. A beautiful heart, gentle, a sharp mind and a wit that, if not rapier, was at least stiletto… she was perfect. I thought we were meant for each other, but when I pled my heart, she looked at me with a sad look in her eyes, told me she valued our friendship, but that it was impossible. Was it our cultures, I asked. No. There was another.
What I’m trying to say is: I love Oompa Loompas as much as the next guy, but it can never be. They only have eyes for you.