Durian: Fruit Or Foreign Invasion?

by Roger B. Rueda

There are two types of people in this world: those who love durian and those who have working olfactory senses. If you belong to the latter, congratulations! You have been spared from the most diabolical culinary invention known to man. But if you belong to the former, then I must ask—where exactly does your allegiance lie? Earth? Or a secret alien colony plotting to overthrow the human race, one spiky fruit at a time?

 

Chris Mooney Singh, in his poem 13 Ways of Looking at a Durian, presents a theory so outrageous, so compelling, that it deserves serious national security consideration. Let’s break it down: the durian is not just a fruit—it is a weapon, a narcotic, a tool of intergalactic mind control, and possibly a Trojan horse for extraterrestrial invasion! And yet, we eat it. Some even worship it! What madness is this?

 

Ah, durian! That weaponized grenade masquerading as a tropical delicacy! It is said that the medieval Chinese used to catapult durians over fortress walls to terrorize their enemies. And why wouldn’t they? One whiff and the enemy would drop their swords and surrender—not out of fear, but from sheer nasal assault! The United Nations should classify this fruit as an unconventional weapon of mass destruction. Yet, here we are, treating it as an afternoon snack!

 

Science suggests that durian’s odor is a complex cocktail of sulfur, onions, rotting meat, and forgotten gym socks. A single durian has the ability to clear out an entire MRT train faster than a politician answering questions about unexplained wealth. In fact, Singapore, in its infinite wisdom, has banned durians from public transportation. Meanwhile, here in the Philippines, we freely allow durian to roam the streets, stinking up the atmosphere like an underperforming government agency.

 

But wait—there’s more! Singh proposes that durian eaters have telepathic powers. Well, that explains a lot! Have you ever spoken to a durian addict? Their eyes light up with an unnatural glow, their words become suspiciously poetic, and they exhibit a disturbing indifference to personal space as they shove a handful of that sticky flesh into their mouths. Coincidence? I think not!

 

Consider this: wherever durians thrive, UFO sightings increase. Coincidence? Hardly! Perhaps these “extraterrestrials” aren’t here for diplomacy, interstellar research, or Miss Universe—perhaps they’re just here for durian! Who's to say durian isn’t a narcotic fruit planted by visitors from a far-off galaxy to prepare humanity for some kind of cosmic mind-control experiment? Look at the signs: obsession, addiction, and a blatant disregard for public safety. The pieces fit!

 

Ah, but let us now turn our attention to the vendors—those mysterious operators stationed in the heart of every marketplace, dealing in what can only be described as extraterrestrial exports. Have you observed their unshakable confidence? The sly curve of their lips, as if privy to some cosmic secret? Are they, perhaps, the chosen emissaries of an intergalactic durian syndicate? And worse—have we, in our blissful ignorance, become willing accomplices in this silent invasion, our stomachs serving as the very Trojan horses of planetary conquest?

 

Behold, dear citizens, the terrifying reality: durian addiction is not merely a personal choice—it is a planetary crisis! Should the day come when all durians suddenly float in mid-air, know that the invasion has begun. You have been warned!

 

So next time you reach for a durian, pause. Consider your duty to humanity. Remember your responsibility to the human race. The choice is yours. Just don’t come crying when the mother ship arrives and you realize you’re nothing but a pawn in the great Durian Conspiracy.