An Account of our Acquaintance

Pickles is a pooka. -What's a pooka? Sort of an involuntary imaginary friend if you will.

Well ok if you really want to know... Here is an account of how I came to know the pooka:

I met Pickles a few years ago. I was in a dark place in my life. Bad marriage, horrible job, you name it, I had made a lot of bad decisions and I was about to make another one. It was my birthday 1994 and my buddy said we should go to this place he had heard about so I went to a club called the 25th Street Theater. It was industrial punk dance junk: Skinny Puppy and Front 212 and the like. I drank and danced and drank and at some point in the night some girl in a poke-a-dotted dress gave me a pill. That’s all I remember I swear and I will testify to that in court if I am ever asked.
I woke up in a backyard in Waco, Tx. Around me lay seven empty tequila bottles 500 or so empty beer cans. 4 dead chickens, several odd pairs of shoes, a door from an old camaro and one drooling penguin laying in a puddle on my shoulder. It was 7:30am according to my watch which had somehow gotten its crystal busted. My tongue was swollen and my eyes stung. I found several other people passed out in the backyard including two police officers but no one that I recognized. My head throbbed from the sound of my breathing and my hair was wet from dew. I found my shoes tied around the backdoor knob but the door was locked and bared a makeshift sign that read “U Nock I shoot!” I went around to the front but there was no sign of my truck. A strained voice from behind me said “Here we’ll take my car.” I turned and it was the Penguin. Looking as rough as I felt. He threw me the keys and wobbled over to a 1968 camaro parked half in the front yard, half in the street. It was missing its passenger side door.


That was it. He has been around ever since. He disappears occasionally only to return in a few weeks with new torrid stories of despicable behavior and lawless acts of debauchery!
He mostly sleeps under my desk or in the back seat of my truck. He smells even when he isn’t making horrible body noises and is rude and selfish and insensitive.

He has told me hundreds of stories (his favorite thing to do when he is drunk –which is his natural state as best I can tell). I don’t know which ones to believe and which ones are just flat out lies. I returned to the Lord 5 years ago and assumed that he would move on now that I was no longer any fun and refused to go out and party with him but that was not to be. Seems his only good quality (unfortunately) is that he is loyal to a fault. Since my rededication he has become increasingly fond of me but no less crude. He pretty much keeps to himself and drinks or sleeps. I ignore him when I can and if you can get used to the smell -it’s the best policy. I promise!