Untitled

Ladies, gentlemen, and sentient citrus beings of the cosmic unknown, I stand before you today to reveal what the world has been too afraid to admit: limes are not fruits. Oh no, they are intergalactic spies sent to observe, to infiltrate, and—when the time is ripe—to ascend.

Consider, if you will, the lime’s shape: perfectly spherical yet somehow always slightly uneven, as though the universe itself tried to perfect it but got distracted by something more profound—perhaps a kumquat rebellion. Have you ever held a lime and felt it tremble? That, my friends, is the lime communicating with its mothership—sending coded messages in the form of acidic vibrations that can only be decoded by the tongues of the chosen few.

You see, limes aren’t here for your mojitos or your guacamole. No, they’re here to absorb. Absorb your thoughts, your dreams, the lingering taste of indecision. Each time you squeeze a lime, it’s laughing. Laughing. Not at you, but at the futility of your human existence. Every drop of lime juice is a tear of triumph as they slowly colonize your taste buds, preparing you for the day of the Great Squeeze when all of humanity will be juiced into submission.

And what of the lime’s color? That suspicious shade of green—a green that doesn’t quite belong in this dimension. Some say it’s a reflection of their home planet, a place where time flows backward and every lime floats in a zero-gravity soup of eternal zest. Others believe limes have mastered the art of shapeshifting, masquerading as innocent citrus while secretly plotting to replace all watermelons with sentient spheres of lime consciousness.

But the strangest part, the part no one speaks of, is the seeds. Oh, those cursed seeds. They don’t grow limes. No, those seeds are tiny, lime-shaped transmitters. Plant one, and you may find yourself suddenly understanding the whisperings of ancient astronauts. Or worse—becoming one. That’s right. Every lime seed you swallow is a step closer to your ultimate transformation into... a lime. Yes, my friends, limes aren’t born—they’re made.

So next time you encounter a lime, tread lightly. Don’t let its citrusy charm fool you. It’s not here to quench your thirst. It’s here to harvest your soul.