Horny Melon

Today I was in Whole Foods, perusing the produce aisles when I encountered a spiky lemon-like fruit that looked like something out of a Tim Burton movie.

“What the hell is that thing?” I asked.

“Language!” shouted a school teacher.

“Sorry.”

I read the sign above the spiky lemonfruit. It said: HORNY MELON.

“Horny melon?” I asked.

“If I have to warn you again, you’re going to the principal,” said the teacher.

“Sorry.”

Now, I’m not one to purchase foreign fruits for the sheer novelty of saying “I purchased a horny melon.” Yet, as the fearless founder of a site such as this, with millions of devoted readers around the world hanging on my every word, I said to myself: “Self: you buy that horny melon and you eat it!”

So I took it home and named it Petey.

“Petey,” I said, “I’m going to put you on a cutting board.”

I put Petey on the cutting board and he looked like this:

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“Now Petey,” I said, “this might hurt a little. I’m going to cut you in half.”

Petey stayed quiet, which I thought was awful nice of him.

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“Your insides look funny, Petey.”

Not a word.

“Well, I guess I better eat them.”

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As I brought the spoon to my mouth, I recalled the words beneath the name HORNY MELON in the Whole Foods. “Tastes like a cucumber.”

Having tasted it now, I would amend that description and say: “tastes like a bland, acidic cucumber.”

In other words, Petey was a waste of $3.89. The best thing about him was his funky exterior. The insides tasted like mushy cucumber and battery acid.

What’s the lesson here? Sometimes it’s what’s on the outside that counts.

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