When his best friend Tim told Mr. Oranges that putting oranges on everything may not be the best idea for his business, Mr. Oranges quickly told him to go to hell.
On the first day of business, one person showed up to his restaurant, ordered pizza from the menu, with a perplexed look on his face, as if he were wondering why there were pictures of oranges all over the walls despite the name of the business. When this man received his slice of pizza and discovered slices of oranges all over it, he requested a refund.
“I ordered a plain slice of cheese pizza,” the customer said, infuriated.
“Why would you walk into a place called Oranges on Everything and expect anything other than oranges on your pizza, huh!”
“I want a refund.”
“Well, you’re not going to get one!” Mr. Oranges shouted, spittle flying from his lips.
“Give me a damn refund,” the customer demanded.
“You want a refund, huh?” Mr. Oranges screamed, then reached under the counter, grabbed a bag of oranges, ripped it open, and began to fling individual oranges at the man.
“What the hell,” the man shouted, turning to run away. “I — ”
An orange hit the man in the back of the head and he fell forward onto the floor. Right near the door, the man twitched like a fish, his mouth frothing with spittle. A few minutes later the man passed away and Mr. Oranges, who had just opened his restaurant that put oranges on everything, was promptly arrested, charged and convicted of first-degree murder, and sentenced to death. He —
“You know what,” Mr. Oranges said, coming back to the present and away from his fantasy of what life would be like if he told his friend Tim to go to hell, opened his restaurant despite Tim’s advice, and put oranges on everything. “Maybe I’ll hold back on putting oranges on all the food.”
His friend nodded. “Good idea.”