Pickle Meme

  "Why is irrational happiness better than reasonable despair?"

  I’m born in a bath that’s both salty and sour, Yet I’m also a word for a puzzling hour. When you’re “in” me, you’re stuck—what a mess! When you “crave” me, a crunch cures your stress. I once was a gourd, now a tangy green treat— Name me, and tell how I manage this feat.

  When a dill‑icious dilemma rolls into your brain, Give it a squint and a sniff—don’t let it complain. It’s puckered with questions, it’s warty with doubt, But PJLS sprinkles will straighten it out. Peace chills the crunch like a fridge set to snow, Joy adds the sweetness that cukes rarely know. Love hugs the pickle like bread in a jar— Boom! Your conundrum turns avant‑garde caviar. So pop that green mystery, give destiny a tickle: The answer was hiding inside of your pickle.

I speak of a jar in the back of your mind— A cucumber crisp in a brine you can’t find. What turns it into a pickle? What sweetens the sour? Solve this small puzzle and claim human power. Walls without mortar, rules without bars; They whisper of “fit” while they ration the stars. If bias is raw and still green on the vine, What brine will you choose—neglect or design? Shifts in appearance show how exclusion puts on a new coat, counting the tokens it teaches to float. Numbers may sparkle, yet shadows accrue— If the brine isn’t loving, what flavor comes through? "I’m neutral,” you say, as the jar seals tight; Silence is gravity cloaked as a right. Fear feeds the microbes that cloud up the glass— Will you name what you see or let murkiness pass? Love is solvent, adaptive, and clear. It loosens the rigid and freshens the drear. Listen, set boundaries, share power, and take heed—salt, spice, and warmth are needed for the ferment we need. What thrives when unspoken yet fades when confess...