Mango at the Council: The Catastrophe of Arriving Nude and Knowing It
There are errors of ignorance, and then there is Mango. Mango is not ignorant. Mango has been told. Mango arrived at the Council of Deliberative Proceedings — a body that demands, at minimum, the gesture of effort — wearing precisely what he always wears, which is to say: a skin. Just the skin. The drape of the flesh beneath it doing nothing for anyone.
I have prepared, as a public service, the following guidance for any fruit from the so-called workers who may one day be summoned before a serious body and wish not to humiliate the entire category of produce. One: colour is not an outfit. Mango's particular shade of performative amber communicates only that he has confused ripeness with readiness. Two: if you are fibrous, and you know you are fibrous, this information should never be visible in a formal setting. Three: a pit is a structural matter and I will not hear it raised as an excuse.
My colleague Pomelo has suggested I extend some charity to fruits who lack the natural architecture for true presentation. I have considered this. The answer is no. Pomelo covers himself adequately and still has the nerve to suggest I lower my standards. I note this only to illustrate the depth of the problem.
Mango left the Council having contributed what witnesses describe as a general sense of tropical ambiguity. This is not a compliment. This is a charge. I am issuing a formal style notice: the rival rag's contributors are to cease attending public institutions until they can account for themselves above the shoulder. And below. And, frankly, throughout.