I Like My Women Like My Pickles II

This idea came about from somebody's question on what kind of pickle I like, and I naturally said I like my pickles like my women, hot & spicy, and green. I wrote a blog entry quite a while back and was really not that happy with it and I felt like I could have done more. I'm not saying this is better, but it stays the course, of course.

I like my women like my pickles: hot & spicy, and green. And I really mean that. In my next life, I would like to be with a Rachel Hunter look alike who recycles and drives an electric car, or I’d like to be with that smok’n hot green chick from Star Trek.

Ok. So let’s get some reality. One of those options is just not possible. Yes, a guy like me is never going to get with Rachel Hunter, so I guess I’ll need to settle for the green chick from Star Trek. Well, I’m not sure I’d be settling. Have you seen her? She has amazingly beautiful looks and a hot body. I don’t care that she is green. Caring about skin color is so Twentieth Century.

I’m not going to worry about my wife because this is my little fantasy and I did say “in my next life” which absolves me of any guilt for abandoning my pale honey for my green honey.

Just how am I going to go about getting this green hottie? Well, first of all I think I need to do some genealogical research. Specifically I need to find out if she is related to the Jolly Green Giant. That’s going to be some problem if that huge bastard is her father. I am pretty sure he knows I have had an overage problem with my veggies. Then I am going to need to prove I am good with kids. I can take my daughter with me, but I guess if this is a promise for the next life I’m not sure if she counts, but let’s go ahead and take her. So I need to take her and make sure she plays nice with Sprout.

I can picture it now, Lauren and Sprout start playing and get into a wrestling match. Then I see a couple of things rolling on the ground.

“Are those brussel sprouts?” I ask.

“I should have worn a jock strap.” Sprout says with his head hung low, “They’re mine.”

So as it turns out I get off lucky and I don’t need to worry about the Jolly Green Giant being my father-in-law, or rather my…I actually don’t know the name of the relationship between you and the hot, sexy, green science fiction babe you are banging’s father.

I think I need to do a few things to prepare myself to receive my green sexpot. First, I need to get rid of the potted plants in the house. You don’t want the little lady having a hissy fit because the fichus is making faces at her (fichus’ are prone to do that to strangers). Next get rid of the lawn mower. You don’t want her to accuse you of genocide. Finally, you are going to need to make sure none of the neighbors are bringing home aliens. I don’t want any unneeded INS scrutiny.