Singing Pickle

by | Feb 13, 2024 | Fiction, Issue Thirty-Seven

During one of these workplace holiday soirees where everyone brings a little gift and then people swap and strategize to get the one they want according to an arcane set of rules, a man who was new at such negotiations wound up going home with a singing pickle – that is, a battery-operated plastic pickle that, with the flick of a little switch, would break into song (specifically, “Viva la Quince Brigada,” the famous hymn composed for the Irish mercenaries who joined forces with the Spanish Republican army during the latter’s Civil War). Nevertheless, based on the fact that he could not imagine what practical use anyone could possibly have for a singing pickle, as well as on the way his colleagues snickered at him when it became clear that he was saddled with it, the man concluded that the so-called singing pickle was really just a dildo that had been marketed as a singing pickle for the benefit of those customers who wanted a dildo but did not want to reveal to others that they wanted a dildo, even if the others to whom they would be have been revealing that they wanted a dildo, presuming the item were purchased online, would merely have been whichever anonymous warehouse workers retrieved and packaged it for shipping. Unlike these bashful customers, however, the man who wound up with the singing pickle at the workplace holiday soiree did not, for a variety of reasons that shall at present receive no further elaboration, want a dildo, and so he decided that rather than using the singing pickle in the manner in which it was actually intended to be used, which is to say, as a dildo, he would use it in the manner in which it was ostensibly – but not actually – intended to be used, which is to say, as a singing pickle. From time to time, therefore, he would retrieve it from the drawer in his bedside table where he stored it, flip the switch, and allow it to pleasantly serenade him (and anyone who happened to be keeping his nocturnal company at the time) with its ode to the members of the so-called Connolly Column and their sadly ill-fated efforts to stem the rising tide of twentieth century ethno-nationalism on the Iberian Peninsula. Interestingly enough, for as much as he himself delighted in doing so, it never occurred to the man that the singing pickle genuinely may have been intended to be used as a singing pickle from the outset, an ultimately true fact from which it can in turn be deduced that by endeavoring to use the singing pickle as it had not been intended to be used, the man had ironically ended up using it as it had been intended to be used, whereas if he had endeavored to use it as it had been intended to be used, he would have instead ended up using it as it had not been intended to be used, as well as with a singing pickle up his butt.

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