Can you just fucking imagine being a pineapple.

Can you just fucking imagine being a pineapple. I think about this sometimes and it weirds me out. Pineapples take a whole-ass year to grow, and a pineapple plant can only bear 1 fruit per year with very difficult to raise conditions. It's like raising a child for a year except harder and if it dies you don't get arrested. So all this happens, someone tends to this motherfucker for a year and then they have to pick it. Like can you imagine the emotional distress of doing that. I get attached to my succulents of all things, and those fuckers die after like 3 days. So imagine raising a pineapple, giving it constant love and attention, and then cutting it and selling it for $3.99. Like. Three-fucking-ninety-nine. And then some soccer mom named Sharon picks it up at the grocery store for her kid's birthday or a salad or something, and everyone's like "nah I don't like pineapple" so Sharon throws that thing in the FUCKING GARBAGE. Which took A YEAR OF HARD WORK to grow and now she's like "lol okay I'll get watermelons next time" (don't even get me STARTED on watermelons) And this child, this baby, which someone sang to and loved and gently cared for for A YEAR, AS IN 365 DAYS, WHICH THEY PROBABLY NAMED AND HAD A BREAKDOWN WHEN THEY HAD TO PICK, is just in the trash, the leftovers of Sharon's nasty-ass salad. Like jesus y'all. Appreciate your pineapples for fuck's sake. I don't want to hear this bullshit about not liking it.