For those of us who have, up until now, been living in a state of ignorance and savagery by consuming food that exist on the same physical plane as ourselves, Earth Fruits Yogurt has come to Orvo with the promise of something greater.
Sliding itself into the vacant shell of the short-lived Yoasis, Earth Fruits has established itself as Bulldog Boulevard’s latest froyo installment, oozing its hempy wholesomeness out onto the intersection it so charitably illuminates with its 5 Million LED display (blinding flashes of blue and white can be especially calming when one is stressed out by day-to-day activities, like driving in a straight line). This display--if you are lucky enough to catch a glimpse of it before you go crashing through your windshield, your assaulted corneas smouldering slightly as your mouth moves in what witnesses would later report to be, “Why why oh God why?”--proclaims Earth Fruits’ motto for you to See and Understand: Fuel your body. Feed your soul.
Also their logo is all lowercase, which means it’s hip and understands you. Giving your logo the all-lowercase treatment is freaking magic. Getting rid of all those offensive capitol letters can turn even the most anger-inducing logos into wordmashes (SHUT UP SPELL-CHECK YOU KNOW NOTHING) so friendly you just want to squeeze ‘em! Watch and learn:
To be honest, that did not turn out at all like I’d hoped.
Because you may not have had the chance to experience Earth Fruits for yourself, I will now lead you on a journey through Thought and Perception itself, where we shall walk the glistening linoleum tiles of its storefront together. Take off your shoes, light up your favorite Scentsy, and let my words (and the sweet, sweet smell of FresiaBloodLight) flow over you as we begin...
When you enter Earth Fruits, you feel Enlightenment ebb and flow around you. It tickles your cheeks, it makes the hair on the back of your hands stand up. But you cannot grasp it. WHY DOES IT TAUNT AND ELUDE?! You search desperately, flinging your head from left to right, looking for the source of this spiritual ascension, this well of perpetual understanding...
The cashier beckons you forward, looking irritated. No, not irritated. That’s just the word your primitive mortal mind drudges up in an attempt to explain the radiance of this higher being’s countenance. Surely a vendor of the only product that will feed your soul is a creature of great wisdom and dignity.
“What would you like?” She asks, tapping a fingernail against the cash register. You close your eyes and listen to the taps. Is this the beat to some ancient, sacred song describing the mysteries of existence? The rhythm of the universe? Is this what Forever sounds like? A hundred years passes through your fingertips. A solar wind plays in your hair and a choir of Spacefish begin a cantata which you know is Your Life. Your destiny is suddenly laid bare before you, and you see the whole of creation dancing to this One Truth--the Beat.
“THE BEAT!” You proclaim loudly, eyes opening wide. The cashier quirks an eyebrow.
“We have Vanilla and Cherry and, um, Chocolate Karma, and...what are you doing?”
Your foot does not taste like joy. Those cosmic fish lied.
“Give me everything,” you cry, “I want it ALL!” You fling your arms wide, emphasizing just HOW MUCH of everything you desire.
“...Okay.” the cashier says after a moment. You feel withered in her effulgent presence. “Do you want it in separate cups, or, like...” she makes a swirling motion with her finger. You do not comprehend.
“I think I’ve transcended the use of cups.” You say, knowing she will understand.
“So...did you want to buy a pre-packed pint?”
“My soul can be fed in pints?” You ask, stunned by this most happy of revelations. She nods.
“But we only have Vanilla left.”
You can’t just have vanilla. You want it ALL. You need it all.
“Here,” you say, stripping off your shirt. People around you fall silent for no reason at all and the cashier takes a step back.
“Just fill it up with everything you have, okay? I have no patience for the confines of this crude physical world anymore.” You hand her your shirt, which she takes after a nod from her supervisor. It takes a few minutes, but eventually the shirt is filled, the fabric bulging and looking quite moist.
“Fifty-five ninety-four.” the cashier says, reading off a post-it note her supervisor had stuck on the register while she was applying the final layer of Strawberry Bongo Banana.
“A small price for enlightenment!” you proclaim happily as you hand over the money, hoisting your now-dripping shirt’o’yogurt onto your back. An icy stream of Macaw’s Mango descends your bare skin. It feels like sunshine and childhood.
“When next you see me, I shall have shed this clumsy form and will be The Radiance! Farewell, teachers and fellows! May your path be light!”
You depart. Your shirt’o’yogurt is swiftly losing its bulbous shape and the stream of summer dreams and innocence has become a veritable river. You remember that you are still a slave to the conditions of a mortal existence. Amused by the irony of this, you chuckle and take a seat in the parking lot of Earth Fruits Yogurt. Literally in the parking lot. Right in the center of it, cross-legged with your shirt’o’yogurt dripping serenely into your lap. Cars cannot harm you, for they have no meaning now.
You dip a hand into the swirly soup of multi-flavored yogurt, raising it to your lips with a child-like sense of anticipation. You slurp what you can from your palm, pausing to savor the taste.
“WHAT THE HELL,” you scream, punching the shirtload of liquid failure that has begun to pool around you, “THIS TASTES EXACTLY LIKE THAT YOASIS CRAP.”
“Well yeah.” a passerby snorts, taking a sip of Dr. Pepper like it was nothing, “It’s the same place. They just changed their name.”
Somewhere far away, in a direction that is neither up nor down, you hear the soft laughing of the Spacefish and you know it to be true.
When you enter Earth Fruits, you feel Enlightenment ebb and flow around you. It tickles your cheeks, it makes the hair on the back of your hands stand up. But you cannot grasp it. WHY DOES IT TAUNT AND ELUDE?! You search desperately, flinging your head from left to right, looking for the source of this spiritual ascension, this well of perpetual understanding...
The cashier beckons you forward, looking irritated. No, not irritated. That’s just the word your primitive mortal mind drudges up in an attempt to explain the radiance of this higher being’s countenance. Surely a vendor of the only product that will feed your soul is a creature of great wisdom and dignity.
“What would you like?” She asks, tapping a fingernail against the cash register. You close your eyes and listen to the taps. Is this the beat to some ancient, sacred song describing the mysteries of existence? The rhythm of the universe? Is this what Forever sounds like? A hundred years passes through your fingertips. A solar wind plays in your hair and a choir of Spacefish begin a cantata which you know is Your Life. Your destiny is suddenly laid bare before you, and you see the whole of creation dancing to this One Truth--the Beat.
“THE BEAT!” You proclaim loudly, eyes opening wide. The cashier quirks an eyebrow.
“We have Vanilla and Cherry and, um, Chocolate Karma, and...what are you doing?”
Your foot does not taste like joy. Those cosmic fish lied.
“Give me everything,” you cry, “I want it ALL!” You fling your arms wide, emphasizing just HOW MUCH of everything you desire.
“...Okay.” the cashier says after a moment. You feel withered in her effulgent presence. “Do you want it in separate cups, or, like...” she makes a swirling motion with her finger. You do not comprehend.
“I think I’ve transcended the use of cups.” You say, knowing she will understand.
“So...did you want to buy a pre-packed pint?”
“My soul can be fed in pints?” You ask, stunned by this most happy of revelations. She nods.
“But we only have Vanilla left.”
You can’t just have vanilla. You want it ALL. You need it all.
“Here,” you say, stripping off your shirt. People around you fall silent for no reason at all and the cashier takes a step back.
“Just fill it up with everything you have, okay? I have no patience for the confines of this crude physical world anymore.” You hand her your shirt, which she takes after a nod from her supervisor. It takes a few minutes, but eventually the shirt is filled, the fabric bulging and looking quite moist.
“Fifty-five ninety-four.” the cashier says, reading off a post-it note her supervisor had stuck on the register while she was applying the final layer of Strawberry Bongo Banana.
“A small price for enlightenment!” you proclaim happily as you hand over the money, hoisting your now-dripping shirt’o’yogurt onto your back. An icy stream of Macaw’s Mango descends your bare skin. It feels like sunshine and childhood.
“When next you see me, I shall have shed this clumsy form and will be The Radiance! Farewell, teachers and fellows! May your path be light!”
You depart. Your shirt’o’yogurt is swiftly losing its bulbous shape and the stream of summer dreams and innocence has become a veritable river. You remember that you are still a slave to the conditions of a mortal existence. Amused by the irony of this, you chuckle and take a seat in the parking lot of Earth Fruits Yogurt. Literally in the parking lot. Right in the center of it, cross-legged with your shirt’o’yogurt dripping serenely into your lap. Cars cannot harm you, for they have no meaning now.
You dip a hand into the swirly soup of multi-flavored yogurt, raising it to your lips with a child-like sense of anticipation. You slurp what you can from your palm, pausing to savor the taste.
“WHAT THE HELL,” you scream, punching the shirtload of liquid failure that has begun to pool around you, “THIS TASTES EXACTLY LIKE THAT YOASIS CRAP.”
“Well yeah.” a passerby snorts, taking a sip of Dr. Pepper like it was nothing, “It’s the same place. They just changed their name.”
Somewhere far away, in a direction that is neither up nor down, you hear the soft laughing of the Spacefish and you know it to be true.
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