⚠️ WARNING TO THE PEOPLE OF JEFFERSON COUNTY, AND ANYONE LIVING WITHIN A 20-MILE RADIUS OF A WALMART.
I need you to stay calm.
Wanna play a game? It’s called “My Whole Life Is a Lie.”
I just got done cutting the yard on a Saturday morning. Nothing is more American than mowing grass, watching cartoons, and slowly developing lower back pain before you’re eligible for AARP. Thanks to TikTok, I don’t think this generation will ever experience that weird empty feeling of realizing Saturday morning cartoons disappeared and left a hole in your soul that you won’t understand until you’re 43. I’ve been married twice and logged roughly 673 hours of emotional therapy, but somehow this is the thing that finally broke me.
The temperature had me sweating like an escort in church, so I did the only reasonable thing. I walked to the garage freezer.
You know the one.
No light. Frost thicker than a tax code. A mysterious frozen wasteland where leftovers from three presidential administrations go to die. Honestly, I’m pretty sure that’s where my ex stored her heart overnight.
I reached in and grabbed an unmarked frozen delight. A popsicle.
I hit the jackpot.
Yellow.
The universal color for lemonade. Maybe pineapple. Some tropical citrus blend. This is science. This is civilization. This is the social contract we’ve all silently agreed to.
I sat down on the porch, admired my hard work, took that first glorious bite…
…and my brain blue-screened.
It was like staring at one of those Magic Eye posters in a dentist’s office for 45 minutes before realizing the hidden picture was just disappointment. Nothing made sense. The numbers weren’t numbering. It was like watching an accountant with dyslexia try to balance the federal budget.
Then it hit me.
Not clarity.
Banana.
This yellow popsicle… was banana flavored.
Banana.
Who approved this? What flavor scientist woke up one morning and said, “You know what the public wants? Psychological warfare.”
The wrapper was clear, so I can’t even write the company a strongly worded letter demanding they revoke someone’s laboratory privileges. Worse yet, I can’t warn the rest of you because I have no idea which company manufactured this frozen act of domestic terrorism.
Even the pug sniffed it… and walked away.
A pug.
That’s like Gordon Ramsay refusing free bacon.
So be vigilant, friends.
There is an imposter among us.
A popsicle out there identifying as a sexy citrus masterpiece while secretly packing a banana.
Trust no yellow frozen object.
Godspeed. 🍌🍦
Dispatches like this one are being collected in What The F(arm): Sixty Dispatches from an Unqualified Ohio Farmer — $40, half of which turns straight into hay for the horses, the mini donkey, and the baby goats. The presses roll when 100 people pre-order.