Orange Thieves

Hey everyone! I am now satisfied that people are reading this, and will no longer post entreaties for comments or say that anybody can suck eggs. It's so nice to get those comments, though. In the past week I've suffered a few minor pangs of homesickness, and of course I miss Juney terribly. Also, my morale took a huge blow when I figured out how much money I owed the IRS and realized that things are not going to be easy for me at all for the next year or so. This passed, however, and I remain undaunted. I have a few different projects brewing, hopefully I'll eventually be able to talk myself into a paying gig. I think I'm going to embrace horrible poverty for a while so I'll have some time to develop some stuff.

So this week, I'd like to tell you about my new favorite hobby. I would like to preface this by saying that I do not approve of stealing in most instances, and that none of you should ever steal, because it is illegal and wrong.

That doesn't stop me though! You see, my friend Rudy who I've been staying with lives in a small house at the base of the Hollywood Hills. We don't have to walk very far at all before we get up into the rich neighborhoods where it's all winding streets, interesting landscaping, and amazingly cool houses. At first, Rudy and I took to walking around up there to enjoy the quiet and gaze jealously at the homes of the rich. It began innocently enough.

Then, the other night, after I had completed my taxes and was feeling downtrodden, Rudy and I went for our customary jaunt into the hills and stumbled across a house that had an orange tree in its yard. There was no fence, plenty of low-hanging oranges, and the street was very dark. On a lark, Rudy grabbed an orange off the tree. We were going to eat it, but it was split open so we rolled it down the hill instead.

Once we got to the bottom of the hill, I found the orange and picked it up again. Out of curiosity, we tore it in half and observed that part of the orange appeared to be in pristine condition. Rudy sampled its juices, and looked up at me with feverish light in his eyes. "It's soooo good!" he proclaimed.

I tried it too, and it was, indeed, amazing. We stood in the middle of the street in a pool of light, digging the sweet pulp out of the rind with our teeth and laughing like hyenas. We emerged from the hills changed men. It was the best orange we'd ever eaten; organic and fresh off the tree. Who were these ungrateful bourgeois that kept such delicious fruit on the property? Why did they not pick the tree clean as soon as the fruit ripened? How could they leave the oranges hanging on the tree for so long that they burst open with ripeness? Here was a wrong that must be righted.

Two nights later, we once more ventured forth into the hills. This time we walked a wider path and kept our eyes open for citrus trees. There were plenty more orange trees, and some lemons as well. Many were behind fences, some were easily accessible. We returned home with a single orange and an unripe lemon, and hatched a plan.

Over the next few weeks, we'll make a complete catalogue of all of the yards that have orange trees, and implement a systematic plan that will allow us to pilfer a few oranges here and there. The rich people aren't even eating them! Once we've charted the whereabouts of this ambrosia and learned the movements of the Bel-Air Patrol, who watches the neighborhood, we will be able to ensure that we never lack for free, delicious citrus fruit. I am confident that these purloined delicacies, and the cathartic act of stealing them from the super-rich, will go a long way towards seeing me through the dark times that are ahead.

I would like to reiterate that stealing is not okay, unless you are stealing oranges from rich people who never eat them anyway.