Dear Ralph’s, you motherfuckers.
Dear Ralph’s:
Getting into the little box of plastic strawberries I bought last week should be easy. It should definitely be comparatively easier than growing them myself from scratch. I’m not an idiot, I promise, but if I find myself - a 29 year-old, pretty in-shape guy - having to use three separate tools and summon a goddamn hellspawn demon just to break through the plastic cage of wrath and despair which separates me from sweet, berry goodness, there’s something wrong with your packaging techniques.
Scissors: nope. A knife the size of a machete: not gonna happen. An actual sword: laughably inadequate. It’s the Battletoads of fruit receptacles; the ‘27 Yankees of “convenience” packaging. I’m in my kitchen trying to McGuyver an IED out of a popcorn popper, some old coffee grounds, and a half-stale blueberry scone - all in the name of healthy and easily accessible snack food.
What’s the problem guys? Did you get a shipment of clear plastic gun safes and just decide “fuck it, these’ll work just fine”? Are you helping us save for the inevitable Zombie Apocalypse whereupon strawberries will be the new currency of the survivors? Are you just assholes? Seriously, are you giant, giant assholes?
Black Boxes should be made of this shit; of course since it’s apparently the plastic equivalent of Adamantium, any plane crash would mean a 450MPH indestructible strawberry-centered missile blasting through the countryside like paper mache.
WHY WON’T YOU LET ME IN! ALL I WANT IS A FUCKING STRAWBERRY!
**Take note USB flashdrive manufacturers, because this applies to you fuckers too. It’s an 8gig USB drive that’s just gonna end up going through the wash in someone’s jeans, not the Arc Of The Covenant; I shouldn’t need to nuke the packaging from orbit just so I can leave behind a fucking powerpoint.
