Mr. Tangerine Man

“Hey, Mister Tangerine Man, tell your lies to me.”

“Security,” bellowed the lord of moldy orangeness. He was not in the mood for hecklers. He was sleepy, and this was the last place he wanted to be.

He only called this rally because his fans had been eager to hear the story of his origin. They had followed him blindly (and stupidly) for years, but never knew how he came to be their beloved Tangerine Man.

As he took to the microphone, after the weird little dance he performed to impress his demons (and his idiots), he began to speak:

“Hello, my flock of sheep, er I mean my wonderful fans.

“Look at you all,” he said. “You’re almost as beautiful and brilliant as I am. Let me tell you about when I was young, living in my mansion on the right side of the tracks…”

“You should have been tied to the rails,” yelled a middle-aged female voice from the crowd.”

The Cringey Cockwomble, who to that point had been in the background cuddling with the couch, shouted back, “shouldn’t you be taking care of your grandkids, old woman? Or your cats?”

Disruption over, the Orange One continued:

“So, I was a boy in my mansion. The peasants on the wrong side of the tracks were upset because we increased their rent. They complained they had nothing left for food. We kindly brought them boxes of fruit.

“They said it was moldy. They wouldn’t eat it! Ungrateful swine. I didn’t see anything wrong with it, so I ate a tangerine. I passed out. When I came to, I was glowing. I showed everybody how wonderful the fruit was and ever since that day, my brilliant followers will swallow any kind of shit I feed them.”