So, this professor went into a food store this past week.
Do you like dill or sweet pickles…or neither? That’s my question to you, I must admit.
See, while I was in the store, I picked up a jar of pickles and went to pay for them like any respectable thingy might do.
But now, the fellow at the register, said: “Sir…I just want to make sure…you know, right, that you are holding sweet pickles? I mean, you’re going to be buying sweet pickles!”
He said it as if he was shocked.
“I had no idea,” I said. “I picked up the first jar I saw. See, between me and you, they all taste the same anyway.”
“Uhh…” and he trailed off a bit. “You’re wrong. The sweet pickles…” And he paused here, ’cause he couldn’t find the word he was looking for. Or rather his tongue couldn’t.
“…Sweet pickles…”
I let him flounder for a bit, just because I’m a wicked professor, don’t you know.
Sweet, waterlogged pickles.
Dill pickles.
Then he found himself.
“Sweet pickles,” he said, “are worse for you. They’ve got…preservatives.”
“Do they? A wonder,” I said. “Now how much is this?”
The line was building, too, I should say.
“Sir,” he said, “I’m really suggesting that you get dill pickles right now.”
And that’s when the woman behind me said, “Could we move it along?”
I turned around. “We’re having a giant pickle discussion. Please hold on for a few.”
She huffed.
“No,” I said, “this professor will get these.”
“Sir, you will die in a few years if you continue to eat like this.”
And I got them.
And…this professor still hasn’t touched them.
The Punchy Lands! 