RGB

"Took your sweet time," the girls in the front exclaimed, waving
little red, green and blue flags. I wasn't sure how I ended up at
an RGB appreciation rally, but there I was, standing behind a
microphone decorated with colorful strips of paper. The sweaty
crumpled paper with a speech I apparently prepared some time ago
clenched in my hand would prove most detrimental. Shakily I unraveled
the moist ball and looked at what I wrote. Clearly this was the
work of the CONSUL typewriter I reappropriated from a colleague's 
attic. The faded monospaced letters (I never bothered to purchase 
a new ink tape for the machine) were very brief. "Monochrome ftw," 
I whispered to myself, as I ran my eyes over the note. Of course 
the microphone was on.

Why anyone bothered to paint a melon with stripes of the three
colors, I didn't exactly bother myself with ruminating on, as one
landed by my feet. Somewhat intuitively my next utterance was a
simple: "flee!" Aerially deployed tomatoes, zucchini's, oranges
painted blue, I even saw a small child trying to hurl a pumpkin
decorated with RGB stickers, accompanied my retreat. It seemed the
public's effort was spent on making sure all the edibles were 
of one of the three colors. Had I the time and courage, I 
would've defended the validity of any colored fruits
and vegetables, since - wasn't that the idea of RGB mixing?

BONK! That was just a tangerine (painted red?) hitting my leg.
Nearly by the exit now. "Wait!" I shouted. What? I stopped and
held my arms up, facing the menacing crowd. Why did I do that? I
was almost free. The fruitable onslaught paused. Everyone waited
for what my next words would be.

"I forgot to take out the laundry!"