Crush

I have a new crush every week. This week his name is not important. His missing phone call is.

Know this as an immutable truth of the universe: Every American boy had a crush on Tinker Bell.

Only one vowel difference to »crash«, but the effect is almost certainly the same.

Everyone's had a crush on someone, and I can see why it's called a 'crush'. To look at her is to crush one's hopes like ripened, bursting fruit; to smell her hair and know she uses strawberry shampoo crushes the heart like a new pack of cigarettes; to talk to her and keep it against all the dictates of will and urge to trivialities crushes the spirit like that gentleman in Salem, Massachusetts, during the witch trials, who, after many stones were piled atop him, was asked a last time to confess; ribs and organs surely grinding to powder and paste, breath only leading over steep cliffs of broken glass to next breath, he wheezed: 'More weight'.

For, indeed, any who have loved so desperately and completely, deep in their broken hearts, despite all the agony of unrequited desire, must agree: 'More weight'.

It's really not any different from those orange-flavored popsicles with vanilla ice cream in the inside, no?

Well a distant cousin maybe. Let's share recipes.

i got an orange crush. i stuck it in my pants and rode away on my big fat banana seat bike.

i got an orange crush. i drank it on the dirty cigarette-strewn sand.

i got an orange crush. i put it in the fridge. i drank it in an ice-cream float and then went to take a wiz.

i got an orange crush. i fed it to a plant. i crushed the can beneath my vans and kicked it to the trees.

i got an orange crush. i drink one everyday.