Diary Entry for Day 114: In a Pickle

We definitely want to find veggies and fruits that do well here and maybe sell a few or at least cook with them. We are experimenting. Here’s something we learned:

Six cucumber plants may be too many…

…especially if it rains 10 inches every month.

We have have a few hundred cukes thus far. And now we are getting massive ones. Some are bigger than my very large head, as you can see in the picture.

I have run out of ways to make them and we have many, many, many jars of pickles.

Speaking of pickles, I have no idea how I realized this, but the number to the F.B.I. in Boston is 617–742–5533. You know what that spells?

617-PICKLED.

Do you know what I used to do?

I used to wait for people to walk into the room or office and I would be laughing hysterically. They would ask why.

“Oh…HAHA… my…HA…god. I just heard….SNORT… the funniest pickle…GUFFAW…joke ever!”

Naturally, they’d ask where and I would tell them that it’s a free phone line…just call 617-PICKLED.

They would and I would pee myself as they slammed down the reciever.

One time I worked in a Call Center and it was a slow Friday or something, so we decided to see how many people we could add on a conference call. When it got up to around 30 or so I said “Hang on. I got one more!”

I connected to 1–617-PICKLED.

“Hello. F.B.I.”

SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!…

PS: The number has since changed to 857–386–2000. That doesn’t really spell anything. I blame me.

Originally published at Blue Dog Farm.