Like Lord Summerisle (pictured above), I sure could go for a nice juicy apple right about now. But guess what? I went to the market earlier today, with the apple basket I personally hand-wove, and guess what the creepy old apple lady says to me? "No apples today, young man. The crops have failed."
"In Summerisle?" I said. "But that's just stupid, you old lady! We got apples coming out of our asses around here! What do you mean, the crops failed! You're a moron! A stupid old moron!"
Well, it turns out she was right, and my barrage of insults was, more than likely, unfair. The crops have failed, and now we have no apples to satisfy our hunger or thirst, or to dry out and use as decorations. I was talking to a guy at work about it, and he said, "Yeah, it's really awful. No apples at all. You know what I had for breakfast? A pear. That's what I've been reduced to."
I said, "I'm not sure I can stand it much longer, to be honest. It's been hours since I had a real apple."
Then he said, "Do you know any virgins?"
I said, "What?"
He said, "Do you know any virgins?"
"Why?" I asked. I thought he'd gone mad from the lack of apples.
"So we can burn one."
I stared at him. "So we can..." I trailed off.
"Burn one," he said, looking at me like I had apples growing out of my eyes. "In the wicker man. As a sacrifice?"
"A sacrifice to...?"
"The...to the, I don't know, the frickin' apple gods, or whatever! I don't know, man! That's just what we do around here. It's supposed to work, seriously."
"Oh," I said. "Well, no, I don't know any virgins."
"Damn it," he said. "Well, that's what we get for living like a bunch of pagan hippies. People like us get started pretty early."
"Yeah. Well, hey, if you find one, and you burn him or her, let me know if it works."
"Will do. Hey, don't eat too many pears, am I right?"
"You know it!" I said.
And that's where we left it. No apples. Unbelievable!