This was written for a Medium publication in honor of National Pickle Day.

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Humans are always screwing up.

When that happens, who do they call? Me, of course, as in

‘I’m in a pickle, this’; ‘I’m in a pickle that.’ It’s better than being ignored like an eggplant. And it ain’t easy being in brine. The idiom fits.

Lately, I’ve heard even the President of the United States muttering my name over and over again. And it’s not only because he likes me sliced up on his Big Macs.

You know it. I know you know it. All together now. Don’t be shy.

Two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, and onions on a sesame seed bun.

And they say Americans are divided.

Why, I’ve heard a rumor that soon they’ll be Golden Arches in the White House made of the real thing. The President may erect a sculpture of me in front of the new Trump ballroom.

Where I could be mistaken for a you know what.

He’d then be in another pickle, wouldn’t he?

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