Tomato

A tomato never swears. Just doesn't. So how would you know if its angry. Ofcourse its color is only a lie.

It does something else to signify anger, it expands. Yes. Trust me. So dont eat a tomato that was small when you were looking at it from a distance, and suddenly went fat when you brought it to your mouth. Don't eat that one, its angry.

Its the same with ego sometimes, but we won't talk about them. Egos don't make sense, tomatoes do.

A tomato's best friend is a fridge. They all love a fridge. It makes them look cool, makes up amply for the angry red color.

A tomato makes love.

Balls are jealous of tomatoes. Balls don't get touched so sensually. And they're not juicy. Its important to be juicy.

A tomato has never been born that liked a shopping bag. Shopping bags are concentration camps. Tomatoes like to have their space.

All tomatoes are scared of heights. Unlike coconuts. And ofcourse, coconuts evolved to be so hard only because they had to fall from such heights. And even though a fallen coconut cannot procreate, whether hard or not, being hard can only be a help right.

Tomatoes hate a blunt knife. It makes them look messy. They dream in wet nights of a sharp sleek knife that will come one day, shine against the falling light, make a few flashes here and there just for effect, and cleanly and swiftly swim through the orgasmic tomato to come out glorious and blessed.

A tomato will have reached its destiny, and its soul will fly away, stand in a long line somewhere under the earth, waiting for a farmer to plant a seed.