Raisin Utopia

Those who have been fortunate enough to hear my raisin utopia must have come to one of two conclusions- either I'm kidding around, trying to get a laugh/negative attention or I'm one crazy bitch. I assure you, although, I may have been a little over-the-top with some of the assembly line, fat kids with bad teeth imagery, I am far too self-absorbed to care about anyone's reaction. No folks, I was dead serious about the heart of the matter - raisin heaven pretty much sums up how I view the Kingdom of God. I guess Crazy Bitch is in order, your honour.

When I ran through the concept with my boss, she laughed from the belly and called me a black widow spider, this was minutes before I was asked to stop cutting off a certain set of balls (I'll save you for first box if it makes you feel better).
I will admit that from the outside looking in, I have painted a self-portrait that could appropriately be entitled 'The Castrater'. I am "intimidating", "scary" even and while I find it fun, fun, fun- it's not really the interpretation I was seeking. I have rethunk. Perhaps I have been a wee bit harsh. A revision of utopia is wanted if it pleases the court.

I shall keep the keagle muscles, the sucking out of all boyish myrth, the womb as filter and the energizing of my spirit with the souls of those that need purging. I maintain that the shriveling up to litte raisins is absolutely essential and the conveyor belt and packaging is a fairly suitable analogy for what we vagina weilders have had to go through. I will take out the "Happy Halloween" stamp and the Aunt Jahmima logo- my intent was never to be racially or religiously discriminatory- and I will replace them with something more neutral like "cheers" with a sunflower. Oh! I will also include a fortune so that each box may provide not only mystery but a good old fashion piece of advice.

Next, scrap the fat boys with bad teeth, they'll be in a box themselves soon come (which incidentally, will require a mechanism something like a breast pump to suck manually because lets face it- who's gonna want to do some of that and we sure as hell don't want a world with nothing but fat, smelly, ugly guys)and instead, send the boxes to Africa or South East Asia or somewhere else with starving little children. Each raisin will be cherished and honoured as they help to restore and sustain once dying innocents. The fertilizer will then be used to plant more food and grow some of the most beautiful and medicinal plants the world has ever seen.

Once this has been realized, I will release my superhuman powers to shine the light of now purified souls over the world, a light from which none will ever wish to avert their eyes. And our own sons will respect the wombs that bore them as they were never able to before and our own daughters will bask in the glory of what they may now become.

As the light blankets the earth all will bless the day of the coming of the raisins and those who once thought me to be nothing but a castrater will understand the required sacrifice for the glory of the greater good and they will wink knowingly when they see me pass.

I realize that some soon-to-be-rasins may not wish to go along and although the idea of force is tempting it is not really my style. To correct this theoretical problem- utopic shriveling men to raisins sex will be the man's only means to multiple, wowwer than wow orgasms; a way to feel 100 fold better than ever fathomed. Men will not only agree to be raisins but they will line up for the experience.

Now which woman can envision raisin utopia without writing her very own mental list of first pickings?

the defence rests