Questionable Sanity

“That is an inordinate amount of pickles,” Parker declared, carefully inspecting the massive jar of fermented cucumbers crouching on the table. He studied it intently, tilting his head occasionally as if appreciating fine art, making slow circles around it, even drumming his fingers on the lid a few times. Speech failed him during his examination, the most his mind and mouth could handle at the moment were a few inquizative grunts.

“So… why do you have it?” he finally managed to ask, straighting and turning to his friend.

The friend shrugged. “Same reason I got the sheep and albino alligators.”

“Inexplicable whim of your questionable sanity?”

“Something like that.”

Parker nodded, then shook his head. “I thought so…”

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