I Went to the Skittles Facebook Page to Complain, But Found Humanity Instead

Last week, I had a hankering for something fruity, but not actual fruit, so I bought some Skittles for the first time in years. I popped the round, colorful jewels in my mouth, the familiarity of childhood returning to me via tastebuds, but then I ate a green Skittle. I had expected the lime flavor of yore, but no, it was the horrifying taste of green apple.

I almost hesitate to divulge this oasis, for fear that it will be spoiled, but when I went to the Skittles Facebook page to see if other people were making a ruckus about the abomination that is a green apple Skittle within a package labeled "Original," I found something more: humanity.

It's a fabled story on the Internet: you're stumbling around, bored, and you come across something so amazing and so pure that you swear it is the distilled essence of the human race. I experienced one of these unicorns, as many who came before me have—by a desire to voice a complaint.

Like me, so many others were frustrated by the green Skittles snafu (or Limegate, as I'm calling it).

This "bullcrap" and "blasphemy" will not stand. Did you see how many people liked Kennedy's post? Seven. Seven whole people.

There is also a lot of disgust going on, often displayed with a picture:

That particular post was accompanied by Andrea, adding that Matthew should sue the company for the sum of $10 million.

Skittles, how could you ruin your tasty goodness with a "dork with a weird disease?"

But there are positive posts, as well. When Elizabeth thinks about Skittles, a love poem/LSAT analogy sprouts:

Speaking of &hearts, Skittles even have the power to save relationships:

Humans aren't the only ones getting in on the love:

The Skittles Facebook page allows us to express ourselves through artistry, even from a vulnerable age:

Of course, art imitates life, so there is also a lot of unintentional nihilism:

Rainbows are tasteless, love isn't real, we all die. This is truly one of the purest forms of humanity, splayed out on a Facebook page. While you could say that the page is just Skittles trying to sell more candy, it has become a place where people go to find camaraderie. It's about feeling a connection, a bond that is so often broken by the hustle and bustle of this hyperconnected 21st century world.

We are all Maurice. Our names—and by extension, our entire beings - have become disconnected with our fellow man.

We feel naked (not shiny) as we, like these Skittles, have little babies to continue our species. Like Kelly, we should all be a little worried, even as we mask our discontent with LOLs.

The people who want Skittles to respond, to notice them and add meaning to their lives; but the only Skittles representative who will see is the social media manager, and he or she probably won't even like their post. Most likely, the branded reply will be a generic response about calling Wrigley to lodge a formal complaint.

In the end, there is only the sympathy of the other dedicated Skittles Facebook page fans, as is often true in life. Their likes and their comments provide a reason to continue living, to finally understand who we are.

Humans, at our most base level, yearn for sustenance and community. We never would have made it out of our caves without it. So here's to you, Skittles Facebook page. May you continue to provide a rainbow of light in this dark world.