Pickles

There's not much to pickles; they soak in brine and they cure hangovers - enough said. But, not really. They're important enough to be the namesake of beloved Rugrats character, Tommy Pickles, so that's got to mean something? It doesn't even matter that no 6-12 year old this day and age knows who the fuck Tommy Pickles is, it's kind of a big deal. It's a bit degrading to consider a pickle a condiment, though. What good are two measly slabs wedged between buns, mustard, onions and all-that-is-unholy-and-morbidly-obese?

I don't approve.

Fuck that.

No one ever shafts a cucumber; why should you lose respect for something just because it's been floating in a jar of suspiciously green fluid for a month? And relish? It's a fucking mockery. Why butcher a perfectly good pickle to the point where it takes on the exact consistency/texture/odor of alien semen? To smear it on a hot dog? Unforgivable. Take it whole or not at all. I appreciate pickles, so should you.