How much pickety-pickin power do we pack?
Well, I don't like to boast but me and my troupe of mini-Infidels have ascended to the highest levels on the competitive picking circuit.
We're currently poised to win Mexico's biggest game show WHO WANTS TO BE A MIGRANT WORKER!
Last week we found our thrill on Blueberry Hill as we deftly filled bucket after bucket with a grand total of 12 1/2 pounds of blueberries within 2 hours time.
It's especially amazing considering that drought conditions severely limited the amount of blueberries available. It forced us into getting all up in the blueberry bushes business. We even engaged in some unscrupulous shakedown tactics. Primitive but effective.
My favorite trick involves dressing up in blue from head to toe. It makes it easier to become one with the blueberry. Once I infiltrate their ranks I convince the blueberries that I'm protecting them from the savage pickers on the hunt all around them. Then I coax them into the bucket with a promise of entrance into my special Blueberry Relocation Program. They don't know that's actually secrety code for "Operation Bucket To Belly" until it's too late.
[Insert Maniacal Laughter Here]
It was a sweltering 101 degrees as we picked and sweated and saw mirages of The Great Blueberry smiling down upon us from afar. We entertained ourselves by singing everything from "Hollaback Girl" to Bread's Greatest Hits.
And then an older lady with a voice that perfectly parroted Edith Bunker burst our blueberry pickin bubble of happiness by continuously screeching for "Bob." It went on for at least 20 agonizing minutes.
"Bob......Boooooooooobbbbb......BBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOBBBBB......where are you BOOOOBBBBBBB??!??"
After enduring such a lengthy onslaught of this woman's shrill whine I certainly couldn't blame Bob for running off to play a game of solitary hide and seek.
I don't know what possessed our normally subdued selves, but with the exception of my oldest son Buster, the rest of us started imitating the lady by simultaneously calling out for our very own imaginary friend named Bob. It got way out of hand. We used the bushy landscape as camouflage when saying things like:
"Hey everybody, Bob is a palindrome.....from front to back he's exactly the same!!!"
"Bob plus O equals BOOB!"
"B-O-B stands for Blueberries on Bob!"
And then Buster clamped his hand over my mouth and frantically whispered, "Mom, you HAVE to stop RIGHT NOW or Bob is going to come over here and he's NOT going to be happy."
That made me uncontrollably spray out a bunch of blue-tinged saliva in laughter.
I ain't fraid' of no BOB!
BOB was probably off Bobbin' For Blueberries somewhere. No, not really. Boo, the youngest male heir in the Infidel household, accomplished that stupefying hands-free feat all on his own when he spotted a lusciously plump blueberry dangling off a low-hanging branch. Boo crouched down and in one fearsome moment he lunged, his pointed teeth bared as he aimed for the blueberry target. In one tremendous gobble he devoured it whole. He's more Jaws on a blueberry diet than he is a mere mortal boy.
So then fearless mini-Infidel leader Sunbum commenced to brazenly yelling out a roll call with oddball names not usually seen outside of psychedelic nightmares incited by consuming a fermented blueberry or two......or three(dozen). She wanted to see if any of our fellow field workers would answer her.
I guess it's just too much to hope for that persons going by Boogaloo Shrimp, Jermaine, Pocahontas, Tyrone, Mathias, and Huffy would all be assembled in one place at the same time.
It's possible that we all turned a bit delusional and loopy courtesy of the complimentary heatstroke that came FREE! with every blueberry bucket picked.
Or maybe we're just the most obnoxious and orneriest gang of purple-fingered blueberry pickers this side of the fruit bowl.
If you see us heading your way, clear a path.....your blueberries are belong to us!