With a steady face the pick-oilder parachutes though the air plunging towards the ground along with two hundred others.
“To save the pickles!” They chorus. They creep across the battle ground.
“Hide behind the grey car!”
Every pick-oilder quickly shifting left as the human comes in.
“1.2.3. War!”
The pick-oilders charge forward!
The human yells out, “Dad! There are dancing pickles in our garage again!”
Then out of nowhere a loud but crackly voice shouts out “Put them in the nail jar with the other weird pickle cockroach things.”
Jeff a well known pick-oilder of Pickle Land exclaimed “What did he just call us? cockroaches? They are gross!”
The human scooped up all the pick-oilders and put them in what seemed like a old crusty jar, full of nail clippings. Gross…