Apples and Oranges

A Blissful Tale of Corporate Murder, Greed, and Slaps on The Wrist

Imagine you had a apple. The most delicious apple you’ve ever had. In fact, it is the most delicious apple that anyone you know has ever had. Since the people love it, you decide to provide this apple to all of your friends, family, and neighbors for a low fee. They love it, I mean they love it more than rapper Plies loves sweet pussy on Saturdays. So they all buy apples from you everyday. You are happy with your earnings, and they are happy with their delicious apples. Everybody is so happy that they throw banging ass apple parties where everyone feverishly throws that ass in a circle in glorious jubilee. You and your people are really tight now. I mean really tight. Tighter than Mitt Romney’s lips wrapped around Donald Trump’s johnson. They trust your product and they consume it with their eyes closed. So now you have a great product, high demand, and a loyal base of consumers.

After a couple of years, you are balling. Balling so hard that somehow, somewhere, Chris Paul manages to break his ankle. You’ve got a great big mansion. Nice cars. Nice clothes. And, of course, a couple of hoes.

When one day, tragically, the town is taken by a great sickness. Many people are affected by it and this sickness turns out to be deadly. Your beloved friends, neighbors, and loyal customers are dying one by one. Since you care about your people, you decide to launch an investigation. I mean you surely don’t want your customers to start dropping like a Kardashian’s panties at a BET Awards after party.

It turns out, to your surprise, and great chagrin, that it is your apple that is causing this sickness. You are outraged and deeply saddened that your product is hurting all of those people that you love and who are providing you with such a great life. You want to make things right and come clean. Of course, because you are a decent human being, the cornerstone of american enterprise, a great job creator for the people. However, after further investigation, it turns out that it wasn’t just one shipment of apples that was infected but about 20% of your entire inventory. Oh yes, you done fucked up now.

So now, a conundrum: Announce to the public that almost every single one of your delicious apples out there might be poisoned and risk everything? I mean, the whips, the house, the clothes, and the hoes? The hoes??! Or stay quiet about it and hope that not too many people die…

So you decide to just shut the fuck up and wait it out. A lot of the people recover from their sickness, but at the end of it, about 75 people lost their lives. Sigh of relief for you that , you know, it could have been worse; and, of, course, nobody found out what really happened. All of your new apples are now healthy and juicy. As juicy as Amber Rose’s heavenly jiggly bottom (and, my friends that is quite juicy!). But you were never able to identify the root of the infestation.

So, one night, as you are relaxing in your office, listening to some smooth Waka Flocka Flame music, getting nice a massage by one professional instagram bad bitch, and getting your posterior consumed like groceries by a second bad bitch, a knock at your door disturbs this moment of bliss. You rightfully exclaim with much anger “can a motherfucker get his ass eaten in peace up in this bitch? Goddamn!”. Little did you know that it was a federal investigator dropping by to let you know that they have proof that your product was the source of the epidemic and that you knew about it and failed to notify the public or recall your product. Of course, you deny and deny and deny, and destroy any trace of evidence that would support the investigator’s claims. The investigators, then, bring you irrefutable proof, along with the testimony of a whistleblower to support their case (I know, these hoes really are not loyal). By this time the public is now aware of the investigation and your brand is tainted. You assure the public everyday that this is all a load of horse shit and tout your many charitable initiatives, especially the one that provides free food to poor school children.

But the investigators bring down the hammer of Thor on your punk ass — at least from their perspective — by forcing you to pay an exorbitant fine for your transgressions, as you finally sorta kinda admit wrongdoing with a written statement that essentially says: “That’s what happens when you trust the wrong niggas to run your shit — they just fuck your shit up. I’m sorry that some of the people I hired and put my trust in were stupid and unreliable. Them be some fuck niggas. And for them, we apologize. And of course, POP hold it down, Pimp Squad, Mama I love you.”

To the public, this is a ridiculous amount of money, and you comply wholeheartedly (because you know this fine is just a fraction of the profit that you made selling all of those poisoned apples anyway, so…). A certificate from the authorities that all of your apples are now safe and healthy reassures your consumers that all is fine and dandy. And everyone lived happily ever after….

Except those 75 people who died… and all of their grieving families and friends…

Must be nice to have a virtual monopoly on the apple business and consequently be — and I quote former Attorney General Eric Holder — “too big to jail’.

Unlike that one guy who got sent to jail for supposedly murdering his neighbor by poisoning him with an apple… Now released after serving 3 years, because it turned out it was one of your apples that killed his neighbor and he had absolutely no intention to kill anyone.

Thank God he got justice after all…

At least the real murderers PAID for their crime….

But as you know, from the words America’s greatest failed Mormon Presidential nominee, now turned Gollum in a lifelong quest for Donald Trump’s long lost cock ring: “Corporations are people, my friend”.

Yea, people…

Only, people that can literally live forever and legally PAY their way out of a murder.

Fin.

The Bourboneer.