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To Whom It May Concern

I actually sent this e-mail to the Customer Support address for Homemaker Premium Orange Juice. The site was a single page JPEG advertising their orange juice with an e-mail and post address and nothing else. The following month, the URL to the site went dead. I never received a response. If a response is one day received, I will promptly post it here.
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from REDACTED
to twsmrk@cs.com
date Mon, Feb 14, 2011 at 1:35 AM
subject Product Complaint
mailed-by REDACTED
To whom it may concern,

I'm in Cleveland, Ohio, and I've been drinking your orange juice for four years. Love the stuff. Great taste, great price, etc. However, I've recently come upon an issue with your product. To explain my problem, I must begin at the beginning. It began on Tuesday, February 8th, 2011.

On this past Tuesday, I came down with a flu. I am a full-grown man, but on the onset of those microbial terrorists into my virginal, sacred blood stream, I resorted to the most primal and well-known lesson of any proud, tough hero: I called my mother to cry and complain about how much it hurt. In the infinite wisdom passed from matriarch to matriarch, culled from the generational wisdom and knowledge that runs fathoms deep in the hallowed halls of Motherdom, she instructed me of an elixir, an ailment to my ills. She told me to drink orange juice. Now, I am not much for superstition. I rather believe in the scientific method, chemistry, medical practices, and all of that stuff, but I'm willing to forgo my educated senses to the ancient arts of the motherly ways. Thus, did I forage for my carton of 64oz. Homemaker Premium 100% Pure Florida Squeezed Orange Juice Now Without Pulp.

Little did I know that this would be the biggest mistake of my life.

I want you to know I don't blame you, Homemaker Premium 100% Pure Florida Squeezed Original Orange Juice Now Without Pulp. This may not have been your fault. Perhaps it was mine. Perhaps it was pride--that grand and spectacular weakness that drove the best of men to their own dooms. But, I want you to know what happened so that you may be prepared if this happens again.

But, I poured myself a glass of orange juice that Tuesday. It was a big glass. Surely, much too big to be an idle side-drink. It demanded dominance of my weakened senses, it required the attention and will of battle rivaled only by Caesar's conquest of Gaul to quell its massive, fluid contents. So, I set out to do so. As the enemy of my enemy, it was my friend. My flu hated the orange juice, so I must make my peace with this behemoth beast in front of me. I took a big gulp. It burned. The citric acids ate away at the virus inside of my throat, it wrapped itself to the infected leisons in my esophagus, and it began to work.

I was feeling better. I took another gulp. I felt stronger. I cleared my throat and had a full, unhindered breath. I coughed and wrenched my airways free of that microscopic immigrant in my motherland respiratory tract.

I felt stronger now, that this was working. I took another gulp, and another, and the glass in front of me began to empty. Each swig was another battle won, as if beating both the enemy of the flu and the fortress of Vitamin C-infused orange blood. But, once I finished the glass, nearing the bottom, I felt something in the bottom of my soul. Something rumbled within me, stopping me dead in my movements. And I felt it.

I felt something stir. Something foreign.

I had traded one enemy for another--a nuisance for a greater beast. To eradicate the invading flu from my fields and lands, I had let a far worse barbarian in: the orange juice.

I felt the juices pushing into my veins, pumping into the corners of my body. I watched the orange beneath my skin pump to the edges of my fingers, that faint glow beneath my skin like an identification. I was doomed and I knew it. I began to feel stiff, to tighten up.

The only thing I wondered was why. Why would the juice do this? What have I done? OJ is supposed to be my friend, not my enemy. But, I knew this feeling, and I was helpless now. It was betrayal. And all I wanted to know was why. Why, orange juice, why?!

As the juices entered into my brain, I got my answer. As if from a great distance, I heard a whisper. I turned to look around me, but I was alone. Then, again, from elsewhere. The voice began to get clearer, but from no discernible place. No, the voice was inside. And it spoke, softly, but strongly. Its voice was not one, but thousands, all speaking as one, a harmony of mass in their words.

What do you want, I asked of this voice.

You, it returned. We want you.

Why, I asked. What do I serve in purpose to you?

You can help us.

Help you do what?

There was no answer. Instead, I felt my spine seize. I went rigid. My skin felt hard, like shards lying one atop the other and my blood became thick like syrup. I had to sit down, and once I did, I knew I would never move again. My feet rooted themselves to the floor, and my arms lifted above my head. I did these things without thinking--the thing inside was making me. I tried to move my arms or legs, but I could not. Then, the voice returned.

You will be our vessel. You will be our passage from what we were unto what we shall become.

In my frightened state, I tried yelling. I opened my mouth, but no words came forth. A dark, clumpy material came out. Rough, coarse, wet...I tasted it and couldn't place it. Then, it hit me. It was dirt. Dirt fell out of my mouth whenever I opened it. Dirt poured from my mouth into the pit of my lap, covering me. I looked to my hands, and they were spreading, each finger elongating like spikes, turning brown and scaled.

What do you want of me, I screamed in my head.

You will soon know.

I looked to my feet and they had partially melted, sinking into the floor and grabbing at the loose edges, pulling the flesh into the floor like one co-mingled being. My skin started to flake off, ripping in small scabs. It turned brown and brittle, like shards of...shards of...bark. My skin was turning to bark. Then, an enormous pain was in my hands. I looked to my fingers and felt them being ripped apart down the middle, splintered and shattering as they each forked off into branches. I felt my skin rip apart as leaves burst from the flesh, replaced now with bark and green leaves.

My head peeled back and stuck to my thickening trunk of a body, and my head moved no more, stuck in forever gaze at the canopy of leaves blooming out of once where my hands. My beautiful hands. I then saw a small thing off of what used to be my pinky, a small little...orange. It grew quickly, and soon, a full orange hung above me. Looking at it, I heard it speak. Not truly, but in my mind, it spoke.

This is what we are. This is what you are now, too. You are us. We are all of us. Welcome. Welcome to Homemaker Premium 100% Pure Florida Squeezed Orange Juice.

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