Image: Behind every green juice is a juicer that has wreaked carnage (via Thinkstock)
I don’t know how you managed to get fruit pulp on my ceiling, and yet, there it is. It’s streaked across the white roof like the puke of a little baby cupid with a high fibre diet.
Of course, the ceiling isn’t the only place you got fruit pulp, is it juicer? There is fruit pulp in every crack and cranny, not just of your excruciatingly crack and cranny-riddled chassis, but of the entire kitchen. You excrete the stuff when I open you. You excrete it when I close you.
You cannot help but excrete. Except, of course, when it comes to your job title. In the field of excreting juice, you’re faring rather poorly. Just one stick of kale and you begin to emit a high, mechanical whine followed immediately by the stench of Vaseline and sadness. Then slowly, full seconds later, you release a single, lonely drop of bright green juice.
Sometimes, your whirring apparatus has spun so fast it has heated my juice to bath temperature.
In fact, it feels like the only time you ever do a passable job is when I feed you oranges. ORANGES! Those things are practically juice already. I can squeeze oranges as well as you can with my bare hands. And when I squeeze them, there’s less cleaning up. And I don’t have to take their skin off first.
I know you’re moving on in years, but you might just be the most poorly designed piece of technology I’ve ever encountered.
Is it really necessary for you to have a hood, a blade, a squidgy-seivy thing, a back compartment, and a pressy-downy-thing, all of which need to be cleaned every time I use you, and none of which are dishwasher safe?
You are meant to be good for me, juicer. But every time I switch you on, and think about what it will take to restore you to an even barely hygienic state post-use, I can literally feel the stress hormones releasing into my blood.
I’m not sure there’s any amount of vitamins and minerals that could undo the damage using you does to my psyche.
What’s more, I suspect using you isn’t even that healthy anyway. I’ve seen what you leave behind. It’s all the fleshy, pulpy, fibrey bits. It’s the bits that keep you ‘regular’.
I’d say you give me the shits, juicer, but judging by the amount of fibre you knock out of my diet, you 100% don’t even do that.
I hate you, juicer. And if I wasn't afraid of inflicting your nuisance on others, I'd leave you by the side of the road.
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