Ah, the pickle. People cry out in fear of the mere mention of the evil instrument, warily watching the green, crunchy, vile rod. Few souls dare even consume it on a burger, let alone straight from the jar. The dripping acidity reeks of age and hatred for all that is good and natural, the bumps on the surface only serving to worsen the slimy texture. 

Yet… I love them. There’s something about biting off a chunk of the sour goodness that simply provides a feeling no other food can. The crunch between the teeth; the sharp yet delicious flavors running down the tongue; the horrified looks of your friends as you eat an entire pickle in a single bite. The experience is like none other, and as you finish the pickle with satisfaction and someone begins to retch in the corner, you know that you are in a superior position. 

Let’s examine the suspect vegetable here. It’s usually about three to four inches long, as bumpy as the road to your granny’s house while you have a pie in your lap, as sour as the 49 you got on that midterm and as crunchy as a techno-metal track made by your older brother in the basement. The pure juicy goodness that comes from a freshly opened jar of pickles is unmatched. As a plus, once you’ve eaten all of the tasty snacks contained, their juice makes for a delicious drink to wash down the fermented flesh. 

I can already hear the cries of anguish from you poor readers, the visceral retching as you imagine some poor sod chugging an entire jar of pickle juice. For all of us who worship the pickle, however—and we know who we are—the allure always grows, ever waxing as we spend more time away from our precious pickles. 

And none of you will ever know the joy of the pickles in a burger, sustaining us another day, satiating our hunger until we can enjoy the solitude for a time and enjoy a delicious jar.

We pickle lovers are here… and we won’t leave. 

You’ll never catch all of us.