An Open Letter to Capri Sun
Dear Capri Sun,
Science discovers outer space and invents robots. Magic is a thing. Yet, your Kangaroo juice pouch still has a shitty straw hole. How many times do I have to end lunch with a punctured juice sack and strawberry-kiwi scented nipple stains before this travesty comes to an end?
Look, I’ve never written a letter before. Honestly, I’ve never cared about anything enough to write a letter. But this is different. This is actually important. How many times do we as Americans have to suffer through the injustice of poking our straws all the way through your sack? We don’t want a Capri Sun shower. We have a Constitution that protects us from stuff like that.
I really don’t want to quit on you. Capri Sun has been with me through a lot of really memorable moments in my life. My first high school lunch, the first time I watched Power Rangers. Capri Sun is even what my friend Anthony and I were drinking when that porn with the guy who tried to oops his own uh-oh came on. Fucking memories, man. Your juice belongs in my mouth!
Capri Sun has always been the cool juice box and that’s why I’m hoping we can still hang out. Capri Sun is what my cousin who smoked cigarettes in second grade drank with his lunch everyday. I’ll bet astronauts and A.C. Slater drink it too. Trust me, I’m not asking for a huge box. We love your shiny sack of Space Age juice! But isn’t there something you can do about your hole?
How do I expect you to fix your hole? Maybe some kind of, like, cool ramp that has rainbows on it and stuff? That would probably work. But I’m no scientist. I’m just an average guy, drinking your juice in my underwear and watching Thundercats DVDs. And I want it to stay that way.