It all becomes clear. All those tree-hugging-hippy-anarchist-wannabe-tosspots who smash up windows in anti-capitalist demonstrations might actually be onto something. I have seen the devastating impact corporations are having on Third World countries first hand, and it makes me sick to my stomach. It’s like taking the blue pill and waking up from the Matrix.

Which sick bastard changed Um Bongo?

For those who may not know about Um Bongo, allow me to explain. Or even better, watch the video below and allow Youtube to explain more eloquantly than I ever could. I don’t think it’s sold outside the UK, but I make no apologies for sounding parochial.

Um Bongo is more than simply a juice drink, and it’s not simply nostalgia either. It was a perfectly blended cocktail of apricots, guavas, mangos, passion fruits, and mandarins. It was also a rare employment opportunity for the diverse wildlife of hippos, pythons, marmosets, and parrots.

And when you mixed it with Blavod (black vodka), it created an astounding colour/taste sensation.

But imagine my horror when the other day TechnoScouse returned from a supermarket that doesn’t deserve naming, to find that my memories of childhood have been pillaged by the adulterated felch-juice now being called Um Bongo!

This picture of a serving suggestion from wikipedia would be perfect if it was the old stuff with it’s charming packaging (painted by parrots remember), and contained what afficionadoes refer to as “the good shit.” As it is, look at the poxy, human-designed carton and recoil in horror at the rancid spluff that is contained therein:

I mean that orangutan (a primate that lives in Sumatra in Asia, as opposed to the Congo in Africa) looks like it’s been given rohypnol and has had those fruit items mercilessly inserted into it’s furry pocket of happiness!

And what fruits are they? Orange, pineapple, and banana. Vile. I loathe bananas. They are the staple food of geriatrics and monkeys who don’t smoke. You can’t get a smoothie half the time (and I don’t even bother trying 90% of the time) which doesn’t have a banana rammed into it like a hooker dating a grocer. Just look at a banana with fresh eyes. They look like the fetid todger of a jaundiced clown. And I’d imagine the taste isn’t far off either. Yet some absolute shithawk had to dip his into the juicebox.

Hanging’s too good for some people.

And so it is time to act. We must take to the streets to spread the word on this dispicable outrage. The people walk in darkness, unaware that there are hippos out of work, watching Trisha (well, the Congo equivalent), and living a hollow existance. Pythons used to have a job for life in the passion fruit picking plantations, now they spend all day smacked of their tits listening to Libertines records. As for the poor parrot, well life as an artist is always tough and regrettably they all died out recreating the absinthe excesses of Toulouse Lautrec.

It’s no wonder the Democratic Republic of Congo fell into civil war. That’s not just because they have French as their official language you know (though the risk was increased because of this).

Don’t be fooled by any other campaign to Bring Back Um Bongo. If you see these pages, you’ll discover that they are actually being done by the producer of the new filth itself! Clicking on www.umbongo.com will actually take you to the petition. They lure you in with their old-chool images, but they still have that abused ape on their boxes. You can’t trust anyone these days.

So, I need you dear readers to suggest ways to reclaim what is rightfully ours. If anyone has anything we can use to blackmail heads of state to put international pressure on these bastards, let me know. That’s the level of action we’ll need to overcome the corporations on this.

To arms Comrades! You have nothing to lose but your cordials!