I would like one.

So I was gently considering an orange fruit today, rolling the very concept around in my skull-chamber. The tangible body, spritzy with tang, may lend itself to eloquence, but it is it's citric essence that tickles my pants; my fancy pants.
Lime is typecast. Lemon suffers from reputation. Tangerine... well, god-damn you tangerine, you've broken my heart too many times. Humble, common orange, so brave and noble and round and sweetly spicy. I'm tap-dancing this very moment for you. You carry the world on your one eternal shoulder. No, you are the world, metaphorized and shucked clean of troubles, and the sun pumpkin'd itself in your honour. They named a colour after you!

Internet, have you ever heard of scurvy? It is mine.