My mom swears it never happened, and unfortunately, I was not present to bear witness. So, perhaps I may never know what truly went down on that fateful night...
The night...
of...
...THE JELLY CUCUMBER!
So, I have taken what I've heard of the incident and formed my own formal opinion about its legitimacy.
Since I only have my father's word to go on (and that's not the best source for accuracy), I am forced to present the best understanding of the event I can manage.
It was just an average evening at the house ("house" is an exaggeration; it was more of a tiny stand-alone apartment with a basement that smelled like poop and mold).
My father, ever the healthnut (Cheetos is his idea of a mustard green) decided to whip up a deliciously nutritious salad to go with dinner that fine evening.
My father, ever the healthnut (Cheetos is his idea of a mustard green) decided to whip up a deliciously nutritious salad to go with dinner that fine evening.
 |
| My father in the midst of intense salad excitement. |
He cut up some lush, green lettuce; he diced up some fresh, bright carrots; maybe he even threw a dash of lovely sliced tomatoes.
His salad was finished. As he beheld it in all of its leafy glory, he took a moment to absorb its sheer beauty. However... It lacked something...
But what?
He checked the refrigerator to see if there was anything to polish up the fine salad and make it shine. Eggs? No. Milk? No. Ham? Probably not.
He dug around for ages, and finally...
he beheld...
The heavens opened up to reveal a gloriously delectable cucumber, perched poised and perfect in the vegetable drawer. It was simply begging to be sliced up and thrown into a salad to fill it with the glory of the gods.
My father went to work.
He held the knife suspended over the magnificent cuke, basking in its phallic splendor. Could he really do it? Could he possibly deface this pure specimen of perfection? And at that, toss it into a salad full of unworthy plebeian-veggies?
He pondered this. It took an immense amount of willpower and strength to battle this decision. But, in the end, the fatherly desire to put dinner on the table won out.
He touched the knife blade to the cucumber's skin, ever so slightly, and this is, as I understand it, what happened:
The skin parted and the gelatinous contents of the satanic cucumber exploded all over the kitchen, as if under extreme pressure.
You may be wondering how there could possibly be so much crap stuffed into one cucumber. The truth is, I have no idea. Also, I remind you that I was not there when it happened and I do sometimes have a tendency to maybe exaggerate. A little.
Now, my mom insists that it never happened, and I suppose I have no way of truly validating the story as a legit horror tale of my childhood. However, one can dream. And I would prefer to think this one is true.
His salad was finished. As he beheld it in all of its leafy glory, he took a moment to absorb its sheer beauty. However... It lacked something...
But what?
He checked the refrigerator to see if there was anything to polish up the fine salad and make it shine. Eggs? No. Milk? No. Ham? Probably not.
He dug around for ages, and finally...
he beheld...
The heavens opened up to reveal a gloriously delectable cucumber, perched poised and perfect in the vegetable drawer. It was simply begging to be sliced up and thrown into a salad to fill it with the glory of the gods.
My father went to work.
He held the knife suspended over the magnificent cuke, basking in its phallic splendor. Could he really do it? Could he possibly deface this pure specimen of perfection? And at that, toss it into a salad full of unworthy plebeian-veggies?
He pondered this. It took an immense amount of willpower and strength to battle this decision. But, in the end, the fatherly desire to put dinner on the table won out.
He touched the knife blade to the cucumber's skin, ever so slightly, and this is, as I understand it, what happened:
The skin parted and the gelatinous contents of the satanic cucumber exploded all over the kitchen, as if under extreme pressure.
You may be wondering how there could possibly be so much crap stuffed into one cucumber. The truth is, I have no idea. Also, I remind you that I was not there when it happened and I do sometimes have a tendency to maybe exaggerate. A little.
Now, my mom insists that it never happened, and I suppose I have no way of truly validating the story as a legit horror tale of my childhood. However, one can dream. And I would prefer to think this one is true.
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ReplyDeletePlus, your top-down view of the kitchen was rockin'.
Random associated thought: "“I think pickles are cucumbers that sold out. They sold their soul to the devil - and the devil was dill.”
-Mitch Hedberg
My brother would appreciate that quote. He seems to think pickles are the pissed-off reincarnation of Hitler soaked in vinegar. Or something.
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