Dear Boz,

Yes, once. Of course, the first difficulty of getting in a pickle is the size difference. You see, even your largest pickle is much smaller than an average sized human. So I had to solve this problem first.

Naturally, I began by trying to create larger pickles. As pickle gigantism is rare in nature, I had to find a way to make it occur unnaturally. I found that a perfect combination of Pickle Growth Hormone, steroids and x-rays would cause pickles to grow to enormous proportions, leaving more than enough room for me to fit comfortably inside. Unfortunately, the resulting giant pickle also grew a brain, a face, arms, legs, a tail and radioactive flame breath, and proceeded to swim to Tokyo. Rumor has it that they had quite a problem with it.

Understandably, I took a bit of a break after that; however, my desire to be the first man to explore the Pickleverse did not. With some trepidation, I began to try to shrink myself. Watching the excellent Honey, I Shrunk the Kids documentary gave me a good start, but obviously, it did not show you exactly how to do it, or everyone would be shrinking themselves left and right. I was able to build a device that got me down to about a foot: still too large for pickle entry. A nice dose of Human Shrink Hormone did the trick, and soon I was perfectly proportioned for pickle penetration.

Being small did not guarantee success. I first tried to enter a Kosher Dill. This was foolish, as I am not Jewish, and some mystical, mighty force prevented my entry. Despite our many differences, I felt like Moses, denied the promised land, or promised pickle, if you will. I moved on to the gherkin.

Now I was faced with a new set of problems. The outer husk, so easy to bite through, was far too tough for my tiny little fingers. I needed tiny cutting tools. I was able to shrink a pick-axe and an awl down, and get into the white, briny interior. Then I dug and I dug, until I was well inside the pickle. This, as you might guess, kind of sucked. It's pretty dark in there, and really smelly, and just generally squishy. I wept, and gnashed my teeth, which basically gave me a mouthful of now-hated pickle-flesh.

Overall, though I can say I am a pioneer of pickle exploration, the whole project was a waste of twenty years. Thanks for bringing it up. I thought I was over the pain, but it still stings like pickle juice in an open wound.

Boz

Last time: What does a saint have to do to get a holiday?

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