In a daring move that has sent shockwaves through the produce aisles of Colorado grocery stores, Mexico has unleashed a diplomatic tongue-lashing that threatens to pull avocados from the hands of unsuspecting consumers. The nation known for tacos and tequila has taken aim at Colorado's avocado industry, declaring a formal “flavor embargo” on any guacamole made with avocados sourced from the Rocky Mountain state. At a press conference held in a guacamole-filled room—because no other venue would be fitting—the Mexican ambassador to the United States stepped up to the microphone, cutting through the air like a well-honed chef’s knife. “It is with great disdain that we address the avocado situation in Colorado,” he proclaimed. “While we applaud their ambitious attempts at growing our beloved fruit, their avocados simply don’t make the cut. They are neither creamy nor dreamy, and we refuse to let them tarnish the reputation of guacamole worldwide.” The ambassador was flanked by a battalion of chefs in sombreros holding signs that read "Save the Avocado!" and "Don’t Mess with Our Guac!" With torches extinguished, they presented a slideshow titled “The Avocado: A Mexican Love Story,” detailing the rich heritage and culinary significance of the green fruit, which has now been turned into mere salad topping by Coloradan daredevils trying to adopt what they clearly cannot muster. Authorities in Colorado were taken aback by the announcement. One local avocado producer, proudly hailing from the heart of Denver, commented, “We’ve worked tirelessly to grow avocados in a climate more suited for skiing than salad—who knew we’d be punished for our efforts? We are just trying to give people in the mountains fresh guacamole, not a life sentence of tastelessness!” Critics of Colorado's avocado industry have also surfaced, claiming that the state's efforts equate to cultural appropriation. “How dare they grow avocados when they could be focusing on their homegrown crops like kale and quinoa?” one activist exclaimed, possibly while sipping a meticulously crafted green smoothie. “Those poor avocados have clearly endured enough trauma, and now they’re being ripped from their sun-soaked homeland and suffocated by altitude.” Social media exploded with reactions. #StopTheGuacAbomination began trending, drawing attention to an organized campaign demanding restaurants across Colorado stop serving guacamole made with local avocados. Meanwhile, protesters have already begun crafting a memorial in Denver's Civic Center Park, where nothing but perfectly ripened Mexican avocados will be visible—a silent homage to the fruit that Colorado could not defend. In a last-ditch effort to salvage their dignity, some Colorado farmers have turned to creating “avocado-flavored” products to bypass Mexico’s import laws. “What’s in a name?” quipped one farmer while frantically creating avocado-infused hot sauce and avocado candy. “If I can’t sell the fruit, I’ll sell the idea. The world isn’t ready for real guacamole anyway.” As the standoff deepens and negotiations simmer (not unlike a pot of chili that Colorado chefs are far more comfortable preparing), one thing is clear: a civil war over the fate of avocados in Colorado is about to unfold, pitting heavyweights of the culinary world against each other. The rest of the nation watches as tension simmers, fingers crossed that their grocery store supply remains intact amid the international fruit feud.