There are several popular theories about what one should do upon receiving a bucket of lemons from life.

Some people think you should make lemonade. If you ask me, that’s a little too obvi. I mean, what ever happened to thinking outside the bun? Like, get the fuck out of that bun, guy. Shun the bun, guy. Shun the bun and head for the border. Yo quiero Fourth Meal. That’s innovation. Plus, it takes more than a bit of lemon to make some fresh squeezed ‘ade. Did life give you sugar as well? Cuz lemon juice by itself is fucking gross. Bitter beer face to the max. YUCKY. But if life were to (literally) sweeten the deal by throwing in some sugar and some high-quality Aquafina h2o water, then maybe lemonade IS the answer. But the saying isn’t “If life gives you lemons, sugar, water and a big ass pitcher, make lemonade.”

Those more materialistic people say you should paint those lemons gold. Because gilded lemons are worth a buttload more than just regular yellow ones, everybody knows that. Gold is like super expensive. It automatically makes you awesome as nipple-farts. That’s why all the hip-hoppers wear gold necklaces and gold teeth and gold pagers. To show everyone how much more funky fresh they are than us regular folk.

Those capitalist pig types say you gotta take those lemons, hold on to them until their market value rises, and then sell them back to life for twice what you got them for. At this point, the only way they can afford their monthly lemon payments is to take out a second mortgage on their house and milk their childrens’ college fund until it’s dryer that Joan Rivers’ crumbly snatch biscuit. That’s when you know you have life by the taint. The classic switcheroo.

Jimmy Buffet fans say you should take the lemon slice it up and put it in your Landshark. Alcoholism is the only way that Parrotheads, these flabby middle-aged white folks with hawaiian shirts and socks’n'sandles, can pretend that they are still relevant. See, alcohol effects judgement and lowers inhibitions and one should not drink it if pregnant. Especially if you’re pregnant with a baby. Especially if you’re pregnant with a baby that you would prefer not to be deformed. I mean sure, we all WISH we could disfigure our unborn children and get drunk every night and sing “Pirate Looks at Forty” while The Buff is up there shredding his acoustic. But alot of us feel a responsibility to society to not hit up BuffeTupt Tour 2012, and instead, get a job, and raise our children, and continue having self-esteem.

Those more spiteful and bitter personalities say you should take that lemon from life and then squeeze the lemon juice into life’s eyeball holes. And while life is momentarily blinded by the juices, you  shank it in the guts with a sharpened screwdriver like 14 times. And while life is lying on the ground, screaming, bleeding to death with lemon juice in it’s eyes, you pour gasoline all over life’s clothes and set it on fire. After a few minutes of burning to death, you piss on the smoldering charred remains. That’s what life gets. I’d like to see life try to pull that shit again.

The prevailing assumption of all of these theories is that being given lemons is a negative thing. Like the worse thing in the world that you could ever receive is a lemon. Like lemons are the equivalent of a thermos full of diarrhea. Like lemons killed Tupac. Like the showers at Dachau were squirting out lemon juice.

This assumption is erroneous! Erroneous, I say! There are people out there that would go apeshit for a basket of lemons. Just think, there are little black African kids with HIV/AIDs and crazy bellies and flies swarming around their oversized heads, eating nothing but sand and hair, and we are pissed of about getting some lemons?! Delicious, juicy lemons? Lifegiving fruit?! Sure maybe they’re a bit sour. And maybe they’re one of the more acidic members of the citrus family. But they are better than eating sand and hair and thermos’s full of wet, runny, butt juice.

So next time life gives you lemons, be glad you’re not one of those black African kids with the big head and skinny malnourished bodies and the HIV/AIDs and the flies and the machete wielding warlords that chopped up your parents and the sand and hair and the lack of potable water. And worst of all, imagine how tiring it would be for the Wichati people to have to kneel every time someone mentions the name of their sacred white bat. Shikaka. So tiring. I bet they get shin splints out the ying yang. The only thing that they have to live for is the hope that Lady Blacksmith Mambazo will come out with a new album. Fat chance African kids, fat as fuck.

Here’s our advice: When life gives you lemons just fucking take them and eat them. Rind and seeds and all. There’s no need to even bother chewing. Swallow them whole. There’s vitamin C in there. Don’t be a fucking jizzwad.