ORANGEY FROOTS: AN EPIC BETRAYAL

“Father please,” Orang Jr. pleaded
They were in the dark living room of a small, rundown apartment. The shadows of the moonlight cast down on the faces of the Orangs. Bats outside squacked and hooted, and tiny marshmallows cackled evilly, as Orang and his son had a solemn conversation.
“Son, I do not want to tell you again, you must stay in Aissur with your brothers and sisters. You are not allowed in Russia!” shouted Orang with anger and bitterness in his voice.
“But I want to see Barack O.!”
“You are forbidden to visit your father, Barack (Mr. Meme Man) Obama.” Orang said sternly.
“Papa, no!”
Orang’s hand grew, enlarged and swelled, to the size of an infected sewer  rat. Orang wound up his hand in preparation of the sizeable saucy slapping of Orang Jr.
“Papa, do not!” Orang Jr. begged of Orang.
SLAP
The sizable saucy slapping of Orang Jr. echoed across the land, ringing in the ear holes of every orang and appel of Aissur. Fruits eating their garlic bread across the city stopped in their tracks.
“I’m sorry son, it had to be done.” Orang felt a strange sensation of guilt and power.
“Yes papa, I understand.”
Orang Jr. was trying to be a strong man despite the stinging on his orangey peel.
“Now, I don’t want you to say one more word about Barack O.!” Orang scolded with a sassy finger wag. Orang Jr. felt like no one understood him, and this was not just a faze! He stomped his feet to his bedroom in a huff.
Slamming his door closed, he saw his picture of Barack O on his wall and thought of his kindness, unlike Orang’s dictatorship. He would not rest until he reached Russia, so Orang Jr. planned to sneak out of his room to get there.
That night, Orang Jr. took his hobo stick and rolled out of his window. CRASH! He tumbled to the ground.
“Orang Jr.!” Orang’s manly voice rang. Oh no! Papa Orang must have heard me! Orang Jr. thought.  He dashed away into the street on his tiptoes with the grace of a gazelle.
Papa Orang came to the window and sprang out, his legs outstretched. Orang, being such a flamboyant athlete, did a double flip before he landed. He was not going to let Orang Jr. reach the gate to Russia!  His legs folded into his body and wheels came out of the holes where his size 32 feet once were. BUZZ. The robotic wheels clicked into place. Papa Orang was now Robo-Orang.
After this, the greatest and most intense chase ever heard of happened, more nail-biting, edge-of-your-seat, amazing, than any other before it.  Orang Jr.’s muscular legs took lengthy strides, he never lost stamina. Despite this, he would be no match for Orang, who was rolling quickly towards him. Orang Jr. ran faster and faster as Orang gritted his teeth and began to gain on him. Luckily, Orang Jr. had planned for this very situation. He opened his hobo stick and dropped a banana peel behind him stealthily. With this, Orang slipped and spun out of control, toppling to the ground. He was down, but the slippery rind would not stun him long; Orang Jr. had to keep running.
By the skin of his orange teeth, Orang jr. reached the gate with Robo-Orang just behind him. He stepped into the teleporter, and, with a BLIP, he was teleported to Russia. Orang was bamboozled.
“Oh crabapples!” Orang exclaimed. “I wish that Barack had not banned me from going to Russia. Now that my shredded son is there, I will never be able to find him!” Orang rolled back home, his big head hanging in shame. Little did he know that the government in Russia was planning something that would make his life even worse.
Orang Jr. went through the portals and ran miles and miles to the mayor’s mansion. News spread quickly in Russia, and Barack O. soon heard of the return of his beloved son, so he awaited his arrival outside of his manor. Orang Jr. came speeding through the gates, hardly able to slow down. His little toe piercing burned as he fell at his knees in front of  Barack like a prize marathoner finishing a race.
“Son!” Barack O. teared up. Orang Jr. gathered himself and stood up, then gave his father a firm handshake, nearly crushing his hand with the strength of one thousand bench presses.
“Cool and good,” Barack O. said, shaking out his hand.
Over the course of the next week, they caught up over cups of bagels and forkfuls of soup. Finally, Barack O. opened up to Orang Jr.
“Son, may I share a few important things with you?”
“Anything, Papa.”
Barack took Orang Jr. down to his official mayor room and revealed his plans to close the portals to Aissur, including the part where he brainwashed his protesting citizens with free garlic bread, because everyone in Russia lived off of them. People really wanted them, because the garlic bread was drugged to make everyone feel happy.  He thought this would be great news to Orang Jr., since he had wanted to get away from his awful home and all.  He was wrong.
“But Papa, Aissur is kind of cool and a little good!”
“It’s just too dangerous over there! I think it is Orang’s doing...” Barack mumbled.
“Papa! How could you do this?”
“Orang Jr., I thought you would be happy…”
Orang Jr. didn’t think that he liked Orang very much, but after hearing Barack insulting him, he realized that Barack was the real meanie. Orang was his true dad!
“No! Orang is pretty good and cool!”
“Maybe to you!”
Orang Jr. was confused; maybe Father Orang was right after all, saying Barack was the true fruit tyrant. He then realized then that his true home was with his 16 siblings and Father Orang. Barack was not a meme man, he was just a mean man, even though he loved Orang Jr.
“You know what Orang Jr.? The portals are going to close right now, whether you like it or not! I’ll have the drugged portal operators shut the whole shebang down!”
Barack pushed the big red button below him. The power flickered on and off, and the portal stats buzzed off of the screens; it was done. Orang Jr. was distraught.  He had to figure out how to get back to Aissur, to connect to his family again!

Two weeks later in Aissur, Orang was rolling briskly down the road. He was not his normal self; he had a manly mustache and a hat that could make any woman swoon.  It was his disguise to try to sneak into the portal. Even though he was banned from entering Russia, he had to try.
When he arrived at the portal, he found something strange. The vegetal guards had died; it appeared they’d been electrically shocked.
“And it looks like the scanners are off!  Cool and good!” Orang said.
Orang happily stepped into the portal, one big foot after another. He awaited anxiously, only to find that he stayed in place; there was no teleportation. He realized what had happened.  They had shut down the portals, the only way to Russia, the only way back to his Orang Jr. His hand grew enlarged, and swelled to the size of an infected sewer rat and slammed against the portal, hoping that something, anything, would suddenly move into place and he could get back to see his son.
“NOOOOOOO!” Orang wailed. “Will I ever see my son again?”
Orang dropped to his knees. He put his head in his enlarged hand as his orangy tears streamed down his round body. Suddenly he regretted everything he did to his beautiful, ripped son. Orang so longingly wished that he had treated Orang Jr. better.  He wished he had never given his son that sizable saucy slap.

Shockingly, Orang Jr. appeared in front of him, his gorgeous beautiful orange eyes glistening in the sunlight. He had been working tirelessly to reverse the effects of the garlic bread with an antidote, which he soon found, candy canes. He had recruited help from the geniuses of Russia to mass-produce the candy, and soon enough, after Orang jr. went door to door giving away candy canes, Russia was almost back to normal. The portal operators now had a mind of their own, and opened the portals for everyone to use. Orang hugged his saucy orange of a son, glad to have him home.
“Papa Orang, I’m so sorry I left!”  Orang Jr. was happy to be back with his Orang, but he still felt slightly empty without his Meme Man, Barack. O. Then, a thought occurred to him; he could use he brainwashing powers of garlic bread to make him want to come back home. Orang jr. felt bad for brainwashing his dad, but it had to be done.
“Oh Orang Jr. don’t eat the garlic bread! I designed it for my citizens, It’s making you think you like it, but you don’t!  It’s got mind controlness in it!”  Barack O. shouted across the kitchen.
Orang Jr. teared up at the memory of it; but he knew that, if he wanted his life to be happy and normal again, he would need to use garlic bread to bring his family together once and for all.
Orang Jr. went back home and got to work. He would need to put a twist on garlic bread so Barack O. would even eat it. He took candy canes, Barack O.’s beloved food, and melted them.  He then took this liquid and mixed it with melted garlic.  Finally, he spread this concoction on a piece of bread.  Orang Jr. took a bite, but not enough to brainwash him. It was heavenly! Barack would surely try this!  After his 16 other siblings agreed that it was delicious, he had Orang try some. 
“Son, this is coolest and goodest thing I’ve ever tasted!  Both Orangs teared up and hugged.
“Cool and good.” Orang jr. said.
So Orang jr. set off to the mayor’s mansion garlic bread in hand, but as soon as he got there, he was in shock. Barack O. was standing on his doorstep, suitcases in hand.
“Papa! What are you doing?” Orang gasped
“I realized I wanted to be with you.”
“Cool and good” orang said
Orang jr.  was astonished he didn’t even need the garlic bread to get his father to come with him!
With that Aissur and Russia will even be allies once more!”  Mayor Barack O. said.
For the rest of their saucy orang lives the whole family lived in that run-down apartment in Aissur, but they were happy. Barack O. United the nations, thenceforth tax deductions and healthcare for the froots.
Even though their life wasn’t perfect, they were happy. The family stayed together and orang and Barack O.s’  fiery love blossomed once more. As they say make the best out what you’ve got, and that’s exactly what one froot, the macho man, the myth, the legend, Orang jr. did.

THE END