I Can’t Believe You Ate The Whole Jar Of Pickles

I can’t believe you ate the whole jar of pickles. Tell me all you want, but will never believe you. I can’t. Believe me, I’m trying to believe you, but I just can’t.

No, I see the empty jar of pickles you have in your hand. I understand that there are no pickles in the jar, but I cannot believe you. I’m doing my best, I really am, but it’s clearly not good enough. What’s going on?

Yes, Billy, I understand that in order to register for a state record, you need a witness to verify that you ate the whole jar in record time. Yes, I smell all of the pickle on your breath. No, you don’t have to drink the juice. Look, I just can’t believe you, okay?

I know that I was the one who handed you the jar of pickles and actually set the timer for this event. Yes, I understand that I did witness you place each pickle in your mouth and then individually chew and swallow them. Yes, I remember hitting the timer to start and then end once you had finished eating the pickles. I remember everything that happened as it happened, but my brain will literally not accept this as reality. I cannot believe you. I don’t know what’s so hard to understand.

You really want to know why, Billy? To be totally honest, I’m contractually obligated to not believe you. I’m sorry. I got a really good deal if I signed this contract to say that I wouldn’t, under any circumstances, believe you.

If you had decided to drink a gallon of milk or fill your mouth with a whole canister of cheese whiz, I might be able to help you out, but you had to choose to eat a whole jar of pickles: the literal one thing that I cannot believe.

I can show you the contract. It’s binding. See here, that is my signature. And this clause here is the believing clause, which outlines exactly what I can and cannot do. I’m not allowed to believe you, but I am allowed to not believe you. Do you understand?

Look, Billy, let’s say hypothetically, I did believe you, which I legally can’t. Let’s say I could, by law, comprehend and internalize that you broke the state record for eating a whole jar of pickles in the fastest time. Would I believe you? Yes. Would I sign the paper authenticating your record? Yes. Would I help you celebrate this feat? Yes. But, as I have mentioned, I cannot.

That being said, I’ve got to run. I’ve got your competitor’s pickle-eating state record attempt to witness.

-DZ ’16