© 2002 Leigh McCuen

As we all know, pickles don't start their lives in the sanitary jars of a grocery aisle. Few of us, however, are aware of the full extent of the pickle deception. You may believe that somehow, through a strange and mysterious process, cucumbers become pickles; that is far from the truth. I have unearthed some of the pickle conspiracy, but much is still hidden.

Somewhere, not far from here, villages of pickles lead little pickle-lives, running around doing pickle-things, and thinking happy pickle-thoughts. Pickles are a generally a friendly and considerate group, but occasionally, there's a bad pickle in the barrel. Long ago the bad pickles discovered people, and a horrible trade was established. In return for being given riches and wealth far beyond what those evil pickles ever dreamed, they give up many of their brethren to pickle factories!

Once, or sometimes twice, a year, hordes of human pickle- pickers bring chaos to the once peaceful pickle villages, where pickles were leading little pickle-lives, running around doing pickle-things, and thinking happy pickle-thoughts. The pickle-pickers, with the help of the odious bad pickles, collect pecks of poor screaming pickles and herd them into pickle factories. Once in the factories, the pickles are strapped to conveyor belts and sent through a pickle process almost (almost) too torturous to mention.

First the pickles' legs are removed by vicious stainless steel blades on either side of the conveyor belt. Troughs alongside the belt collect the lifeblood of the pickles--once the torture is complete, the remaining pickle corpses will be stored in their own blood! A few lucky pickles faint at this first dismemberment, but the unfortunate majority will remain fully conscious as their arms are hacked off at the shoulders. Once the pickles have been delimbed, they are sorted for canning. They are separated based on size and weight, some pickles sent off to be sold with sandwiches, other smaller ones sold as gherkins, those with some defections (a nose too large, a stub of an arm or leg left) are sliced for hamburger chips. Not even the arms and legs are wasted, those are diced and used in relish.

Do the treacherous evil pickles feel remorse for this? No! Year after year they sell more and more of their families and relatives to the pickle factories. The pickle villages are being dangerously depleted and we're not even aware of it. They think they can satisfy us with some child's story about 'pickling' cucumbers. Now we know the truth. Every year thousands of innocent pickles are harvested, tortured, and then left to die, drowning in their own blood.

Listen closely, and you can hear the screams.