Chapter 6 I find myself in a pickle
I'm in a pickle. You probably got that from the last 5 chapters but just to remind you. You know what? Since you're here reading all about me and my terrible life in a pickle, why don't you come over here and help me. If you want this to end and not let me rot inside the pickle and one day a hungry albino raccoon or something will eat the pickle and they'll die cause I'm in there rotting all over the place. Yeah, so scoot yur pickle-eating buttocks over here and help me.
I bet you're not helping me. You're just continuing watching me tell my tale. Munchin' on your dandy nachos and pickles and fizzy drinks of some sort while I'm living off pickle guts and wrapper from the nacho bag which I finished. So turn off that computer right now and skedaddle yourself over here and help. While I tell my tale which will start in the next paragraph.
I'm telling my tale. For I am in a pickle. I sat half cross-legged on the ground, no not ground, PICKLE. PICKLE ground. The icky, juicy, disgusting wet pickle. I didn't want to move. I wanted to stay here and rot. I washed my hands in spit and never bathed for the last 5 and a half chapters. And don't even ask me how I went to the bathroom.