My mother has a terrible habit of buying delicious fruits and letting them rot away before I can taste their delicious innards. It makes me crazy, and almost makes me want to brave my own knife skills so I can eat the wonderful bits.

(My fingers thank me from not acting on these silly ideas.)

So, alas, when I spied a pineapple sitting on the counter three days after it’s purchase, I cringed. I could see the delicious tropical fruit becoming mush as the days passed on, and nobody likes a squishy pineapple.

Because I’m a weirdo, I composed a letter to my mother, explaining that I wanted the pineapple cut. Except I wrote it as the pineapple. His name was Sir Pine of Apple and his only desire in life is to be beheaded, skinned, and eaten. Talk about a vorarephilic pineapple!

While the letter did crack my parents up, still, Sire Pine of Apple lived on. I added a new note, this time, a blunt “kill me”, and left it in his slowly browning hairdo.

When I returned to the kitchen, Sir Pine of Apple had been stabbed, yet he still breathed! A common kitchen knife was sunk into his succulent yellow flesh, yet his head was still attached and his skin far from flayed off.

So, before I left for school, I added “Harder! With more feeling!”

I arrived in the kitchen last night to find Sir Pine of Apple missing from the counter.

I brought his flesh to work with me today.

He was delicious.