🥀 The Worst Day in the Tragic Life of Gerald Pickleman 🥒

Gerald Pickleman woke up on a Tuesday, which was already suspicious. He hated Tuesdays. Mondays were loud and obvious, Wednesdays were halfway done, but Tuesdays? Tuesdays were like a wet sock of a day — useless, damp, and slightly smelly.

Anyway, Gerald opened his eyes to the sound of his alarm clock screaming like a banshee. He smacked it off the nightstand, breaking it for the eighth time that month. “Whatever,” he muttered. “Time is a social construct anyway.”

Then, disaster number one hit.

His wife, Karen, wasn’t in bed. Which wasn’t that weird, except she also wasn’t in the house. Neither were the kids. Or the dog. Or even the goldfish, Sir Swims-a-Lot III. Instead, on the kitchen table sat a single sticky note that said:

“We’re leaving, Gerald. You left the laundry in the washer again. It smelled like regret. – Karen.”

He blinked. “…but it was regret.”

⸻

☕️ The Descent Begins

He tried to make himself a cup of coffee to process this tragedy, but the coffee machine made a sound like a dying goose and exploded, covering him in grounds and broken dreams.

Fine. He went to make toast. But when he put the bread in, the toaster caught fire, started playing “Fireball” by Pitbull (no one knows how), and then burst into flames so bright that the smoke detector gave up and just walked off the ceiling like, “I’m not dealing with this.”

At this point, Gerald was covered in ash, his shirt said Live, Laugh, Love (ironically), and his neighbors were watching from their porch, recording for TikTok.

He decided to go to work. Big mistake.

⸻

🚗 Chaos on Wheels

Gerald got into his car — a 2008 beige Toyota Corolla that smelled faintly of chicken nuggets and despair. The moment he turned the key, the GPS said, “Are you sure about that?” in a judgmental tone.

Halfway to work, it started raining frogs. Not metaphorically. Actual frogs. One hit the windshield and waved.

Then the car broke down in front of a gas station called “EZ Fuelz (the Z is for ‘Zad Choices’).” He tried to call a tow truck, but his phone died mid-sentence — then fell into a puddle that whispered, “You should’ve bought insurance.”

⸻

🧀 Work: Where Hope Goes to Die

Gerald walked five miles in the rain to his office job at CheezyCorp, a company that made cheese-flavored phone cases. He arrived soaked, miserable, and possibly haunted.

The receptionist, Brenda (who was 93% Botox and 7% hatred), looked him up and down and said, “You’re late. Again.”

Gerald replied, “My family left me, Brenda.”

She shrugged. “At least you have your health.”

He coughed violently. “I don’t think I do.”

Then his boss, Mr. Hunklebutt, called him into the office. “Gerald, we’re letting you go. Your ‘Hot Nacho Supreme’ phone case spontaneously combusted in three states.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“Just the customers.”

“Oh, thank God.”

He was fired on the spot, and to add insult to injury, they confiscated his company cheese-shaped keychain.

⸻

🧍‍♂️ The Collapse

He trudged home only to find his house surrounded by raccoons who had declared it their new kingdom. The leader — wearing Karen’s bathrobe — hissed at him and waved a spatula. He retreated.

Hungry and broken, Gerald went to the local diner. He ordered pancakes. The waitress accidentally gave him a single raw potato and said, “Eat your feelings.”

So he did.

While chewing his sadness-spud, he got a text from an unknown number:

“It’s Karen. We’re in Hawaii now. The kids say hi. Sir Swims-a-Lot evolved into a shark. Don’t call us.”

Gerald just stared at the message for a full five minutes, then whispered, “Fair.”

⸻

🌙 The Grand Finale

That night, lightning struck his mailbox. His socks got soaked again. His neighbor’s kid yelled, “Nice house, loser!” and then tripped over a skateboard immediately afterward (small win).

Finally, Gerald sat on his porch, drenched, holding a soggy potato, while the frogs started up again. He looked up at the sky and said, “Could this day get any worse?”

The sky answered by dropping a rogue satellite into his backyard trampoline.

It bounced once and exploded.

Gerald nodded slowly. “Yeah. That tracks.”

⸻

Epilogue 💔✨

By morning, Gerald had become a local legend — “The Man Who Angered the Universe.” The frogs left him offerings. The raccoons let him live in the shed. And every once in a while, when he looked up at the stars, he’d swear one of them blinked and whispered:

“Don’t leave the laundry in the washer again.”

And somewhere in Hawaii… Karen sneezed.

Voter pour @𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐞 🔥

Tu veux nous soutenir ?