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.
My summer of adventure continues! This time, I took my cute little bottom to the county fair! Now, our county fair isn’t just any county fair. No, it’s the fourteenth largest county fair in the country! Fourteenth!!!! Walking through the gates, there’s no way to forget that. There are banners everywhere, giving us something to be proud of! Parents give their kids pride noogies.
As I walk through the gates, I’m feeling good. Scratch that, I’m feeling GREAT! We’ve got something to be proud of! I start to do a little song and dance number. “We’ve got something to believe in! We’ve got a city to feel great about!” I’m going all out, really getting into my performance when I do a spin and turn to my friends. “Come on!!” I yell as I’m expecting to lead a musical parade through the fair. Instead, I’m greeted by dirty looks from everyone in a twenty yard radius. WHY WON’T ANYONE EVER MUSICAL WITH ME??
I give up my dreams of filming my city’s next ad campaign and realize that I need to use the bathroom. I find a porta potty and walk in. What do you know? Diarrhea in the porta potty! I’m not surprised at all, everyone knows that there is diarrhea in every porta potty. It’s a fact of life. I walk out of the bathroom and have a plate with money shoved in my face. It’s the “bathroom attendant.” He says “alright,” and I just laugh. There’s no way I’m tipping him. His diarrhea-filled stench closet was the anti-tip.
We’re ready to move on. While walking around, one of the best parts of the fair is the people watching. You look one way, you see a toothless grandmother brushing her tooth with a cigarette. Look the other way, there’s a Native American playing a flute. Look behind you, there’s a carnie on stilts. Up ahead, there’s a flash mob parade with thirty horses, pooping with every step they take and smelling up the fairgrounds. Next to you, a fight breaks out at a charity booth when a drunk old man with a mullet accuses the workers of stealing. What more can you ask for?
The real reason that anyone comes to the fair is to eat. That means you, foodies! By the way, what is up with that word? Foodie? Who decided that was a word that people should be using? I think it’s just a cute little nickname for a fatso! The fair is a fatso’s dream come true! The goal for a fatso like me isn’t just to eat until I throw up. It’s to eat until I throw up, pass out and have a triangle seizure. That’s easy here. They have every food you could ever dream of. The sticky double fat burger with rainbow sprinkles. Deep fried hot dogs dipped in chocolate. Breaded jelly beans. Fat fuck french fries covered in peanut butter and jelly. Classy, gourmet food and somehow, you don’t even need a reservation!
If you’re able to move, you can explore the rest of the fair. DO NOT GO ON THE RIDES! Do you really trust Michael Carnie with your life while you’re spinning upside down and getting vomit sprayed in your hair on Lucifer’s Loop? If you said yes, we don’t talk anymore.
On your way out, make sure to stop by the World’s Largest Infomercial. This is a fair exclusive! You can’t get this shit anywhere else! For three weeks only, in one place, united as one, every infomercial you’ve ever suffered through! The Flapper-Scooper? Yep! The Ring Dang?! You got it!! EVEN THE SLOP-O-MATIC!!!!!!!!! How many exclamation marks do I need to use to express how excited I am about the Slop-O-Matic? It’s everyone’s favorite Irish pig food server!! If you’re really lucky, you’ll be able to find an empty stand here. Pretend it’s yours and try to convince the crowd you’re selling human livers on the black market. Cha-ching!