One day, a senile old man went to the supermarket. He walked through the aisles with the air of a king--The King in fact. Gazing at the cashiers as he made his ancient way towards them he couldn't help but think that they weren't nothing but hound dogs. In reality, all of the cashiers were human, except one who was one tenth of a percent saint bernard. Not being relevent to the story at hand, the events leading up to his peculiar genetic makeup will not be gone into. Needless to say, neither he nor the old man had the the slightest idea. Well, the old man had ideas but they weren't so much a mark of any kind of shrewdness but rather of his aforementioned senility. So they didn't really count. As it happened the old man chose to pay for his groceries in the one lane he deemed not to be run by "one of those damned dog-human hybrids." How wrong he was!

  Slowly and creakingly the old man removed his purchases from a dirty old cart I neglected to mention. Slowly and creakingly, they they made their way across the conveyor apparatus. Slowly and, you guessed it, creakingly the old man removed the money from his wallet and then dropped both on the ground when he saw what the quasi-canine cashier was doing. What the cashier was doing, besides picking his nose, rolling his eyes, and thinking of new and increasingly unlikely scenarios involving himself and the Dahm triplets was this: putting the old man's oranges, grapefruit, oatmeal, and Hershey's chocolate bar into a brown paper bag. What the old man objected to, besides his slow and ever-creaking digestive tract, inter-species jiggy getting, and truth be told the world at large was this: integration.

  He didn't object to mathematical integration--he previously taught high school calculus. However, he was strongly inclined towards the belief that Newton was of canine lineage. Though he had no proof, he stuck to Riemann sums, just in case. You can never tell with those fruity brits, but despite their faults no german would trade his frau in for a dachshund, he thought.

  The old man believed that god made different colored fruits for a reason: oranges with their bright orange rind, and grapefruit with their whatever the hell that pale-yellow color's called color. He further believed in a separate but equal policy between bright fruit and pale fruit. What he vehemently objected to, until he forgot and started objecting to the opposite thing by accident, was inter-citrus mingling. With this in mind, he demanded that the cashier withdraw his fingers from his nostrils and put the grapefruit and the orange in seperate bags and let him be on his merry way. The cashier didn't think the old man looked too merry and said so. He also told the old man that he had a dream: that one day little pale grapefruit would join hands with little bright oranges as brothers and sisters. The old man said he didn't care for the cashier's unnatural and shameful ideas, and after paying for his groceries was on his way. As he walked out of the supermarket, he removed the hershey's bar from his bag and took a bite. Mmm, he thought, and dropped dead on the sidewalk.