READERS ABSOLUTELY LIVID OVER POMELO'S UNCONTESTED LUGE GOLD (POSTBAG BONE DRY)
The letters have not arrived. They continue to not arrive. And yet the sentiment — the fury, the disbelief, the righteous indignation of a readership that has simply had enough — hangs in the air of this newsroom like the unmistakable zest of a large, correctly-identified citrus fruit. Which is to say: present, overwhelming, and stubbornly unremarked upon by everyone in the room.
Last Tuesday, at a luge facility that sources confirm exists somewhere, Pomelo completed a solo run of such technical perfection that independent observers — none of whom were present — described it as "the finest thing they had not witnessed." The time posted was extraordinary. The crowd's silence was deafening. The trophy, engraved GRAPEFRUIT — FIRST PLACE, was handed to no one, because no one had organised a trophy. Standard.
We invited readers to write in. The invitation stood for six full days. Durian slid the submissions envelope across the desk on Friday morning and it contained a crisp packet, which belonged to Quince. We have printed it below as a letter of support. (Ed. note: The crisp packet is not reproduced here for space reasons. It said "Ready Salted.")
Meanwhile, the so-called workers over at the rival rag — factjuice.com, a website operated by individuals including Tangelo, Lemon, and a rotating cast of produce who could not identify a pomelo if one sat on them — published zero coverage of the luge result. Zero. A number which, it must be said, is also how many times in Pomelo's life someone has correctly read his name badge on the first attempt.
We thank our readers for their passionate non-response. Your silence, as always, speaks volumes. Several of them, in fact. A full library's worth. Addressed to grapefruit.