Persuasive Speech On Popsicles

Popsicles: the best refuge from the summer heat on a stick. The crisp, cold air flowing to your mouth, accented with just the right tang of orchard-fresh fruit, like frozen fruit coming out of a commercial cooler.

I love popsicles—actually, I loved popsicles, until I actually ate one.

It's a bright and sunny day—the same weather they had in Pearl Harbor. As I stab open the plastic packaging with the stick inside, melted popsicle starts to roll off the stick and onto my hand. Instead of greeted by a whiff of morning air, I'm blasted by air from a mini fridge on the poles. My mouth is caught totally off guard. As the cold ice missile hits my tongue, all of my senses are numbed—no taste introduces itself to my taste buds because my taste buds

(After you finish eating only ice for a week, try watermelon for a change.) You probably won’t even need to drink water; you’d get it all from the watermelon. But, that being said, would you consider the individual substances in watermelons food? Probably not. (Project after you finish the watermelon diet: Eat only lycopene for a week! It’s even worse than seeded watermelons.) So, how is watermelon food if the individual substances that compose it are not? I have no idea. Perhaps the combination of a bunch of chemicals makes a food food. Then, if I just put all of the substances in a watermelon in a container, would that be a watermelon? No, because the chemicals themselves are separated; they aren’t one whole piece. Maybe if I mixed all of the molecules into one whole pill-like-thing, would that be a watermelon? No, because it’s not in the same arrangement as a watermelon. It’s like if you put a grand piano into a wood chipper and glued all of the pieces together in a pile: no, it’s not a piano, because it doesn’t work like a piano at all. A bunch of wood and metal wire glued in a random arrangement is not a piano, even though they’re made of the same parts. Final idea: Let’s make a watermelon among the substances that we just separated! This is definitely a watermelon now, but why would anyone go through the effort of deconstructing a watermelon in order to reconstruct

The answer is that, like watermelon, I am not myself. I am not the same person as I was when "I" wrote the word "word". I've lost cells; I've gained cells. I've lost memories, I've written new ones. I'm dying a slow death; I'm living an insignificant life. Just like the food, no one will care about the bruised apple at the bottom of the basket. No one will care about where the skipping rocks are on the riverbed. No one will care about this essay, kicked into the literary gaols, chained to the bars, begging for someone to read it. You'll certainly forget about this essay in thirty years. I'll probably forget about this in about a hundred days. I've already forgotten about what I've eaten for dinner last