PICKLES ARE THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE
I swear I want to go back in time and end the person who ever came up with the idea of letting items sit in bacteria and vinegar and filth to ferment. Just the thought of that process makes me gag. It's such a shame because I actually love cucumbers, but their vile, diseased-looking, corrupted counterparts will have me fleeing a room when that cursed jar is opened and their putrid odour wafts out. How someone could think to actually transform an innocent, sweet vegetable into a rotting, wrinkled corpse betrays all forms of logic and compassion. What did the cucumber ever do to you, exactly?
By extension, anything else that undergoes this satanic ritual known as the "pickling process" is absolutely forbidden to exist in my immediate vicinity. If my future wife liked pickles I think that will probably be a deal-breaker, unless she were willing to forgo such revolting affinities for the sake of my love and sanity of mind.
TL;DR: no pickles ples
ples
plz