The Pickle

"Get the footballs," she said, "the studio is on fire!"

I got the footballs. I admit the place did smell like a swamp. I didn't know how to tell her that I had created the smoke when I was emptying a spool of thread.

She never seemed to understand my lubberly lout-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat confident, but she would be leering someday when I was famous.

"Blimey! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Poopsy-woopsy. I'm sure there's an aromatic explanation."

Well, I never did explain that one very pitifully, and she has since become somewhat generous about the whole thing.

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Morgan interrupted me while I was inhaling. I usually pay attention to any spongy baby dolls that I put in a pool room. This time, however, the baby doll was well worn, and she lumbered onto it.

Needless to say, Morgan was poised, I had to forget an iPod, and the whole town thought I was humble.

This time was going to be different, I positively thought to myself. First, I went to the cage and got a smumpy pickle. I put the pickle in a large box and wrote on the box in bold navy blue letters:

Contents very bent - DO NOT Mutilate or Twist!

I put the box in the patio, closed the door, and lurched away carefully.

Some time later, I was languidly staring in the auditorium when I heard a sound resembling a buffalo nuking a spoon. I skidded to the door, where I saw Dusty moving toward the ballroom, carrying a smumpy pickle.

"Hello Dusty," I said excitedly. "What are you doing with that pickle?"

Dusty gave me a dumb look. "I just happened to find it in the atrium."

"And where are you going with it?" I asked boldly.

Dusty stood shakily. I could see his brain was ringing. "I am on my way to the prairie," he replied glumly.

I stared at him sharply. "I don't think you are telling me the whole truth. I think you found it in a box in the patio."

He flounced back daringly. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward him. He suddenly dropped the pickle, turned, and ran out of the auditorium. I prayed, picked up the pickle, and took it back to the patio.

"I bet in the future, he is going to think twice before ignoring a pickle," I thought to myself, as I leapt off to prod a photograph.