In 2004, justifying my dislike of pickles through some far-out lens of social injustice was apparently my main concern in life. See this excerpt from a livejournal entry I wrote that fall, which I just uncovered earlier today.
I’ve decided that I am fully against pickles. I have always considered them the worst tasting food item known to man, but now I have a social backing for my fight against the pickle. What is that backing, you may but likely do not ask? It deals with the Vlasic Pickle company’s mascot, the stork. Why did they choose a stork to represent their pickle company? Storks are representations of birth, of parenthood, and of a general feeling of wellbeing when they “deliver” a child to a wanting home. What is a pickle? A rotten, decaying, fermented cucumber impregnated with dill to create a terrible, bitter taste. Why does this angel of birth and domesticity put on a blue delivery hat and represent these fermented green posts of effluence? It’s simple – the Vlasic stork is Satan’s delivery bird and he favors abortion and death with his jarred rotten vegetable babies. Why else would they satirize this icon of purity with a product produced when a cucumber decays? This maleficent stork represents all the terror and decay in the world, and brings out the worst in society by selling so many people an item that symbolizes the “dark” side of a touchy social subject.
If not that, perhaps pickles are actually made out of stolen babies. They are the correct color of Soylent Green. This is just as likely.
It’s clearly a bulletproof argument. I have no doubt you’ll never eat another pickle, and will instead start drafting letters to your local politicians.
Then again.. a few days later I posted this, destroying any credibility I had as a human being in 2004:
Ok so this one time I was on this boat and it was really cool until a fat guy yelled “tacos everyone!” and everyone ran to get the tacos because they were really hungry but it was actually just a trap and the fat man was standing at the end of the boat with his chest covered in taco meat and was throwing everyone’s babies into the ocean.
The moral here is that 19 year-old me shouldn’t have had a blog.
I think that’s what it means. That or I’m a genius.