Pickles Need Room to Run, Too.

Since my divorce, I've only been in my apartment for 6 months and so far I've had my newspapers stolen, was gang-raped (allegedly) by a group of immense parking-lot turkeys and have seen more people in wife-beater tank tops then one normally sees during a full-day marathon of "Cops."

I thought I'd seen everything until I was leaving with my kids one morning when I heard my daughter yell:

"PICKLES!!"

Pickles?

I turn to see my daughter pointing at this:


Ah, yes.

Because why WOULDN'T there be pickles loitering outside my apartment?

I have no idea why the apartment lawn is littered with pickles but I can only assume is that someone didn't tighten the jar all the way and, sensing an upcoming 'ham and cheese sandwich massacre,' the pickles - bless their briny hearts - made a break for it.

Obviously.

Enter Twitter:


I figured the world should know.

Or at least that stork. He might be completely oblivious to the pickle plight.

********************

Not one to ignore an obvious marketing opportunity, I give you THIS:


Save the pickles. Save the world.

That's poetry, people.

Just so you know, in case you can't read it, the pickle outside the jar is simply saying: "I'll come back for you."

You can buy the shirt here.

******************

UPDATE:

The Vlasic Stork actually re-Tweeted me:


"Crunch."

Ah.

Such classic Vlasic Stork.

Love that bird.