Pickle O' Pete's on Parade

June 2, 2008
By Tiffani Nutter, White City, OR

Tearing the tangible plastic away from my brand new Pickle o Pete aroused an overwhelming sensation within my core. As my fingers peeled the office smelling plastic away from the shiny red, white, and blue fire cracker, my soon to be explosive emerged before my eyes. I could feel my limbs shake and my eyes tremble with tears, for I couldn’t wait to launch this vessel. As I cradled the pristine firecracker and tore off its base, my lips savored at the thought of the flash powder deflagrating once lit. On that note, I rapidly engulfed its introverted body with black electrical tape and furiously slammed it with a hammer till I had crushed all of its volatile entrails. Once that seemingly lengthy process was complete, I was ready to scout out an innocent object for my cantankerous experiment.
As I finally came across a succulent and tender apple in the lonesome kitchen, I suddenly knew that today would be its last day on that chilly marble counter. I griped it with my hand and flew out the door with anticipation and angst rising in my abdomen. Running hastily across the blazing green grass I finally came to the sweltering black pavement where it intersected with the glistening sidewalk. Standing there with my innocent apple at hand, I reached for the star spangled bic buried amongst my lint filled pocket, and gazed up at the sky. This is it, the moment I’ve been waiting for. As I hummed the tune of our national anthem and proudly sang God Bless America, I was ready to ignite this much anticipated bomb. I gently placed my luscious apple on top of the sweaty pavement and I carved a carcass inside my near death piece of fruit. Then I excitedly grabbed the mashed up Pickle o Pete and tucked it deep inside the apple’s dark crevice. As I brought my lighter to the waxy wick with ease, I lit it inquisitively and drew myself back. As the sparks met my eye I ran with all my might and stood about 12 feet away, watching as my lungs heaved within me. Gasping for air and gazing with pure intent, my apple exploded before my eyes in what seemed like a thousand pieces. Exacerbation flooded my body, and victory overcame me. I did it; I just blew up my first apple. What could I possibly demolish next?
After cleaning up my slaughtered apple bits, a striking thought hit me like a semi, “I’m a two timing all American.” With that in mind, I hoped on my patriotic bicycle and paraded through town with a juicy hot dog at hand. Wow, I really am proud to be an American. It’s funny how I found that while blowing up innocent victims, maybe that’s just the way the world turns. First you have to take out all your aggression on the little people to ultimately make yourself feel better and realize how great you are for doing so. After all, America is in fact the land of the free, and the home of the brave.

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