pickles.

I grew up in this little town about thirty minutes away from Harrisburg.  I call Dillsburg, PA home.  For some reason, someone decided it was a good idea to make our town have some sort of weird pickle obsession.  There is absolutely no reason for this, we have no history of pickle making or anything like that.  We simply just have "Dill" in the beginning of our town's name.  Regardless of there being no correlation between Dillsburg and pickles, we still have this pickle obsession, like I said.  When I say "pickle obsession," I don't think you can fully understand the level of weird unless you physically go to this town during some "big event" such as Pickle Fest or Pickle Drop, etc.  Pickle Fest is some mysterious, unknown, freaky thing to me because in the 18  years I've lived here, I can't bring myself to go to it.  I find nothing appealing in a pickle festival.  Pickle Drop is our small little farm town's take on the ball dropping in Times Square for New Years.  We drop a giant pickle at midnight (not a real one, obviously), and among the "festivities" there are such delicacies as pickle soup, chocolate covered pickles, and other vomit worthy food items involving a pickle.  We also have this Planter's Peanut-like pickle man chilling in a random parking lot.  For some reason, my friends that don't live in the area get a real kick out of this little, wooden, pickle man.  Personally, I think it is absolutely fucking retarded, but as strange as my town can get sometime, I miss it a lot.