Yesterday I picked up a carton of strawberry milk from a store. I did it against all my beliefs about milk thus far and how it only came in two shades–white and that other color called ‘for kids or adults-who-have-given-up-on-their waistline ‘ chocolate. Plus, an enormous container only cost me a Canadian two dollars; therefore, well worth its weight in Pepto Bismol pink fluid. Riddle: where do they keep the strawberry milk producing cows –Answer: in the strawberry milk fields…. forever?! …say The Beatles.
Having done the mental math after the one sip of the cotton candy liquid and feeling strangely fat as though it had already solidified guiltily between both my healthier yet none-the-less painful rituals (nearly two sets of sixty sit ups and Sunday confession)– I decided to pour it down the kitchen sink. I just knew in my gut the right thing to do was to kill it so that diets everywhere could survive. I also knew in that moment,that in my next incarnations, I’d solemnly swear ahead of time to never toy with the notion that pink milk was anything more than a figment of the imagination or ghostly apparition.
Down the drain it went and as it did I laughed at the irony of it all. How the inventors of this so called milk must have been high when thinking this one out—probably not anywhere close to a farm at the time—but only a funny farm.
I laughed as the cascade of My Little Pony pink sank terminally down into the sewers of sugar hell. Even the sink got diabetes after that. As for quenching your thirst, not so…for it is pink milk’s aim to quench any sense of dignity and maturity you thought you acquired as an adult. Unless and until you are Alice in Wonderland on steroids entertaining the mad hatter on drugs then don’t bother to bring strawberry milk into the light of day nor to the office.
And lastly, did you know that the consumption of genetically modified foods will eventually render us genetically modified or partially animated?