Pickles R. Fruit

Mr. Pickles Ryan Fruit sat down at his desk and leaned his briefcase against the base of the cubicle wall. He sighed and ran his hand through his short, black hair. Reaching down he pressed the start-up button on his computer and it came to life with a soft whir. Ignoring the screen in-front of him, Ryan leafed through his snail-mail. It was composed of complaints and hate mail. He sighed again; today was going to be a long day. His computer beeped at him. "You have a new message" was displayed in large cheerful letters across the top of his screen. He grasped his mouse and clicked anxiously on the notice. It read thus:

My little fruity,
You will be pleased to know that I have finally mastered this
infernal contraption that you insisted on me learning to use.
How you ever manage to get anything done? It is such a
worthless waste of my time and energy. Speaking of time
and energy, I hope you are putting some energy into finding
yourself a suitable girl. The state of your apartment the last
time I visited was absolutely horrid. I trust this will change
when you acquire said "girlfriend", I believe they are called
these days. I will of course want to inspect her.

- Mumsy

Ryan read the message with growing horror. A girlfriend? Why? Cold sweat broke out on his pale forehead. He didn't need a girlfriend. They were cumbersome and- he didn't have time to finish the thought.
"Mr. Fruit," droned his boss's some-what nasal voice. "What exactly are you doing, Mr. Fruit?"
"Checking my e-mail sir," he replied in as meek a voice as he could conjure.
"Please engage in your crude activities on your own time," intoned Mr. Bumbarton.
At that moment Ryan's phone rang. He quickly snatched it up.
"Hello," his voice wavered and he could feel Bumbarton's eyes on his neck.
"Mr. Fruit?"
"Yes, that's me," he responded quickly.
"Sir, this is the police. We are sorry to inform you that your mother was brutally murdered this morning in her kitchen."
Ryan looked at the time on the message from his mother. It was marked 10:34 p.m.
"Sir? Are you there," asked the voice.
"Yes, yes I am."
"We will be coming by to ask you a few questions."
"Wait, I-." The buzz on the line answered him.
"Problems Mr. Fruit," inquired Bumbarton.
"My mother was just killed," Ryan said in a stunned voice.
"What a tragedy," Bumbarton turned and left for his corner office.
The elevator behind Ryan dinged. He heard the doors swoosh open. Heavy footsteps headed in his direction.
"Mr. Fruit you are under arrest for the murder of Betty Fruit," came the rhetoric. "Please put your hands behind your head."
"I didn't do it," cried Ryan.
"Sir, we have you on tape."
And so Ryan went to jail for a crime he didn't commit. Eventually he was released on parole but was killed by a run-away taco truck. The moral of this story is that if you think your life is bad, it could be much worse. Your name could be Pickles.

Reviews

[Careless Whispers ._.]

I love pickles. U should submit this to my group, Pickle Lovers!! =3