So what do YOU believe is the moral of this story...?

Today I got up and had a tractor for breakfast, I then walked outside , naked, and found a postbox inside which I spent three hours biting people's hands. In the evening I covered myself in PVA glue and rolled around in some pink glitter before my weekly croquet game with Elton John, but on my way to the course I was mugged by a gang of angry young oranges, they stripped me of all my possesions and wrote MARMALADE IS MURDER all over my body in green highlighter pen. I returned home, shaking, to discover they had ransacked my house, several houses in my street were burning and there was screaming all over the neighborhood. My wall paper was torn off and drawers were left askew, and in the middle of my living room were all of my jars of marmalade and jam, emptied, with flowers scattered on top and a wooden cross stuck in the middle. I heard a strange noise coming upstairs and rushed up to investigate, and at the end of my hall I beheld a vicious orange, with glistening white fangs, brandishing a plank of wood with a nail through it...... But it was crying. "W-w-what's wrong?" I stammered nervosly. The orange looked up at me with it's tear stained face "I- I can't do this any more" It choked through sobs "I can't bear it any more, the violence! The bloodshed! This isn't me"

"Well..." I began cautiously "It doesn't have to be this way, you know. There are other options, other ways of life"

" I thought, when I joined the Fruit Liberation Army, I'd be fighting for the freedom of us oranges! But it turned out I was just the brainwashed victim of a fascist regieme, a pawn in the twisted- Aaargh!" It let out a strangled cry as I smashed a metal lamp into it's side. It's eyes widened in shock as it staggered to the side. I brought the lamp down again and again, unthinking, blinded by rage, untill I grew tired, and gazed down at the soldier before me. It's rind was torn badly, and orange pulp oozed thickly from it's side. With one last effort, the orange lifted it's battered head to meet my eyes, "Remember me" , it rasped, "As a her-" I delt one final, crushing blow to the orange's skull, and it moved no more.

The moral of the story is stay in school and don't do drugs.

The moral is...never smoke spliff after drinking 7 beer glasses full of neat rum

I took 2 bong hits read your story then took 2 more bong hit and read it again and it still makes no sense at all

The moral is...wtf were you smoking when you thought this up?