In this tiny burg populated by upright-standing pickles, the townsfolk come out, don hats and carol for the viewing pleasure of omnivorous predators.
All’s well until a giant hand reaches down and takes a big noisy bite out of a baby pickle — right after his solo. The savage! Mangled bits of soured cucumber fall from the sky, a disturbing yellow stain splashes across the snow, bystanders vomit relish … and the miracle of singing dill becomes a wretched crime scene.
By Firehouse/Dallas, which, as of this moment, are the only people we want to invite to our birthday party.
