Sunkist Why

Sunkist seriously why you gotta be that way. Why you gotta be there in the office vending machine (the button tantalizing mislabeled as “Fanta”) offering up your wanton sweetness to any man with fitty cents. Why must you ramble, Sunkist. Why do you do that when you know the thing we have right here, just me and you, is real. I need your chemical orange delight, Sunkist. It is mine alone. Why exactly must you play me like this, Sunkist.