The adventure began on a regular workday, when I punched my Bucket time card.

         I find myself in a pickle far too often in my life. There's no one to blame but myself, but I jumped at the opportunity to be on a pickle for once. To have a pickle. To have control of a pickle.

         She who controls the pickle wins!

         Honestly, though, as soon as Arwee put this image up in "The Image Bucket (Closed)"  I wanted it. Seeing as how I contribute some images that muddy up her fine enterprise, I didn't feel right about just swooping in and buying it. For those who visited the shop, I thought it might rather be like when you visit your favorite store and see the employees wearing the most awesome shirt.

         "Where'd you get that?" you ask.

         "Here," they say, "But there aren't any more."

         "Wha...?"

         I was very patient, and watchful. I waited for someone to snatch it up, and thinking the whole time, Whoever buys it better be cool enough for it.

         But what was I thinking? Anybody who chooses to buy themselves a pickle -- on purpose -- has to be cool, by default. Forget finding yourself in a pickle, when you can buy yourself one.

         Alas, it seems no one "got" the pickle. I started to sympathize with the pickle. It was so unassuming, just sitting there, proclaiming its presence in the shop. I loaded up the page just to see it.

         "It's okay, pickle. I love you, man."

         The pickle wouldn't respond. (You see, because it's a pickle. A virtual pickle, even.) In my experience, pickles don't respond to amorous declarations, whether I'm in one or putting one on a sandwich.

         One day, I'd had enough. I was looking over some images I'd conjured for the sole purpose of making Arwee's images look better, thinking of what I could replace them with and....

         And there was the pickle. Just being a pickle. Ye Olde Pickle, even. Like, the oldest pickle anyone ever got themselves into. The original pickle. And it was such a wonderful pickle, offering me a chance to have this olde pickle, to put myself on this olde pickle. Never once did it ask me to put myself in a pickle, as so many non-pickles have done. I love irony.

         Ye Olde Pickle. Heh. How can you not love that?