Pickles: Inspired by the True Story of a Classmate

This is it. I have had it. I let it slide when they used my bathroom and left the seat up, I politely looked away when they invited friends over, but my pickles?! MY pickles? Don't they know that those pickles are all I have to live for, the only companions I have in this apartment of barbarians? Are they aware how much time and energy I put into assuring their well being? Apparently not because they have the audacity to just walk into the kitchen open the refrigerator and take a bite out of one of my beloved pickles as if it were a giant sausage devouring it as if they were some hungry hyenas on the prowl, gnawing on something I love as if it were my own child! Those neanderthals ate my child! This is it. This is the last straw.