Once there was a little strawberry. She had

Once there was a little strawberry. She had to leave her country, in order not to become jam.
Because the strawberries in her country were forced to become jam, it was the religious law of the land. Although being jam sucked because you lost your identity into a mass of
other strawberries, being slathered on a piece of freshly toasted wonderbread assuaged some of the umbridge and the anonymity. But that was the idea, dissolving into the gelatinous
masses always seemed the way to go, but now he was ready to step out of the shadows and into the limelight. Becoming the strawberry queen became his obsession.
He practiced the strawberry dance every day, preparing for the Strawberry Queen Pageant. His used-to-be in-the-closet fetish was now going to be center stage, and he couldn't
wait to show everyone his costume. Strawberry Shortcake was such a beautiful girl, that every time he drank Strawberry Milk he
became a bit pinker and shorter. He was beginning to feel perplexed. If he was going to become a woman via dietary means, he did NOT want to be Strawberry Shortcake. For one thing,
he masturbated way to much, something he couldn't associate with S.S.C (on second thought maybe he could). Regardless, if wheat grass was to be the substance of his future vagina
then he must be prepared for th greenish hue it will take on. How would one go about juicing
Grandmother's emerald earrings anyway?

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