Apr 22, 2003 11:32 PM
17610 Views
(Updated Apr 22, 2003 11:32 PM)
Two friends of questionable sanity and a little man of enigmatic ethnic origin directed me to this orange-green light of orgiastic future.
My life has been completely altered.
All you know is wrong. You have been lied to your entire life. There are no other Mango drinks. Other liquids claiming to be Mango-like are lying. They are apostates from the true way of Frooti. Frooti is the uber-mango. Frooti is all. There will be a reckoning. Look here. Observe genius.
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This drink is preventing me from working. I am cut off from this ambrosia in this pitiful city of uneducated. They are ignorant of the Frooti. I have searched high and low. I have sold my body to old lonely men of unascertained mental capability or VD cleanliness for Frooti. Do not call me a Frootiwhore. Whores do not know the all-consuming pure morality trancendant passion and love of Frooti. Here, some haiku I wrote while occupied:
Tetra pack. Silence.
Trade winds. Cute O. Peacock scream.
Nature is jealous.
Flushed and pouting orange,
emerald velvet beckons.
Put your lips to joy.
Wet, wild, exotic,
two mangoes entwined, wouldn't
you like to join them?
Blushing splash, tickles
your tongue, sticky, double O.
Frooti. Just like that.
Conclusion: Buy Frooti, drink nothing but Frooti,eat only things which compliment Frooti, which is everything good and decent in this world. Return to the Frooti. Frooti will always comfort you, forgive you. But the seeming of Frooti's indifference is a different rage.
You may call me insane. Prophets are never recognized.