Pickles

I'm in a pickle, oh yes I am. A pickle is fickle about things that are damned. Zombies, Warlocks, those bumps in the night, I don't like any of them they're not fun alright? 

I am but a pickle in a pickle, surrounded by the dead, vampires coming to suck me... hmm, doesn't sound so bad. I would like to meet up with my darling Egg Salad, but she's kinda smelly, too old for me to make lunch with. So a pickle must do what a pickle does best, and slip through the zombies while making a wet mess. A miss and a grab, a laugh and a stab, but none can tame this pickle. This pickle is far too slick to be caught up by some undead trick.

Now you may ask, why am I, a pickle in such a fine pickle? Well for that we'll ask my wrinkles, for a pickle tells only truth through his wrinkles. The wrinkles may say this, and they may say that, but if they aren't colored right, you best stay back. That pickle is soured, it's no good to touch. Those discolored wrinkles all taste like rich butts.

Now back to the scene- what do you mean I didn't explain how I got in a jam? That's no good. Make it a pickle joke- Our valiant pickle is going with ease, it was a long time coming, but I'm not a tease. These zombies and vampires and all sorts of beasts, were all chasing a little ol' pickle me. They can try all they want, they'll never get a taste. I only like distinguished tea time sorts as of late.

Oh no. A snap and a pop, a crunch and a tear. STOP OH STOP THAT DOESN'T GO THERE!

And thus this pickle will be signing off, a sad and solemn affair. I did not wish for those teeth to be there. "Only suck!" I said, "It won't be hard, but if you bite me I'll be in the E.R.".