The Mango Mafia

Part I
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I really like the way Mr. Dahl employs the term 'fruity' while describing sappy stuff, like silly TV moments when Tom is about to propose Angela. It gives me hope and courage that there once lived a man who rightly interpreted the manipulative and trashy nature of these organic infestations, designed primarily for the diet of the fruit bat and the fruit fly.
Whether 'tis some mild delirium that guides me to rant so openly about this insular scheme of nature,that I cannot say. Whether it's a secret craving for processed food, the kind with Italian peppers strewn generously, that too is beyond my knowledge.
All I know is that I am being pursued by the Mango Mafia and there's little I can do about it.

Part II

The truth hit me a couple of hours ago, when my mental cogs reeled out ole Bollywood gangster scene,and in no time I had put two and two together.

'Chausa' , I conjectured, had to be a sort of highwayman ( such a typical name), Hapus the wicked gunslinger and I was damned if Langda wasn't their leader. Had these been real people with the customary gangsta moustache and mole, I wouldn't have felt any more stricken.

Oh, I was shit scared. And that is when I felt compelled to read up on the old deserted case of the Mango Massacre of the 90's. If I had been shit scared earlier, I now felt like a homeless bacteriophage. In an old newspaper I found a bizzare account, told from the horror-struck eyes of The Mangoose, a famed decoit of the past and as I read the bone chilling epistle, my worst fears were confirmed. I must let out the story for confined within me, it torments my system and right now, I'm in the state of one who values health above all.

Part III: Abstruse Mangoose: The Dead Man's Account

I began the Mango Massacre.

I shot down every mango in my sight. Young or old, not one mangy mango escaped my terror. My thirst grew.I began scouting for peaches. I beat the pulp out of oranges. I skinned chickoos. I laughed as I squeezed the life out of pomegranates. I plundered secret hideouts of berries. In my wake, grapes grew seedy and apples lost colour.

The world was rightly shaken, most importantly the scientific community at whom my ire was directed, became helpless. Sans the apple, I knew the ole bearded bozos would be left with only the 99% perspiration and none of the newtonesque inspiration that is required for scientific progress.

Over the time, I quit beating-the-bushes and expanded my networks and skills. Wildlife, I soon learnt, was what the top smugglers were lusting for, and I plunged head-on into this new, fantastic job.

Snakespearbuddy), Ratface, Toad and Limpin'Lemur and me got together to form a formidable team. We supplied the big 'uns the works- ivory, mink, tiger claws. We grew rich and ambitious and in a series of coups, Ratface killed Toad after Toad killed the Lemur and Snakespear slit Rat's neck.