"pickle" poems
My mom used to tell me when I was a kid
that thank you note is important.
To let people know that you're thankful,
and appreciate their efforts.
As I grow older,
I'm so used on writing thank you notes
with the same template on every note.
But I, or we, tend to forget to write one
for those who cope with our lives.
So I wrote this one is for you.
Thank you for letting me crash in your place
when I was far from sober,
almost on every Friday nights.
You literally picked me up when I'm down.
On the grown.
Thank you for staying up with me until 5
even when you got a big meeting
at 8 in the morning.
Because you know how much I hate sleeping,
but I'll be the bitchiest *****
if you try to wake me up.
Thank you for bringing me a bouquet
of fake flowers
instead of the real one.
You sure know me way too well
to know that I can't keep real flowers alive.
Or cactus, or fishes, or my phone's battery.
Yea, my phone's battery *****
But you trust me to keep what we have, alive.
And lasts as long as it possibly could.
Thank you for making every queue line
less boring with all your dad jokes,
they made me think that
you're a qualified good father
to your future kids.
Or maybe ours.
But I hate children and you love them,
as much as I hate karaoke
and as much as you love it.
But gosh, you made me think of adopting.
We are nothing but night and day.
A thunderstorm and a rainbow.
A cactus and a peony.
A manageable chaos and
a managed you.
And yet we compliment each other like
peanut butter and pickle on a sandwich.
Sure, it's one of the weirdest combination
but somehow it goes surprisingly fine.
I swear I'm not going to make this cheesy
but if it was, well,
****
I know this is not what you imagine
to be with me
in the first place
when you slipped into my life.
But I thank you,
for deciding to stay.
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 7:42 PM UTC
Clownlike, happiest on your hands,
Feet to the stars, and moon-skulled,
Gilled like a fish. A common-sense
Thumbs-down on the dodo's mode.
Wrapped up in yourself like a spool,
Trawling your dark, as owls do.
Mute as a turnip from the Fourth
Of July to All Fools' Day,
O high-riser, my little loaf.
Vague as fog and looked for like mail.
Farther off than Australia.
Bent-backed Atlas, our traveled prawn.
Snug as a bud and at home
Like a sprat in a pickle jug.
A creel of eels, all ripples.
Jumpy as a Mexican bean.
Right, like a well-done sum.
A clean slate, with your own face on.
12.9k
The Kingdom of Morocco has a rugged mountain interior which reminds me of the British meal of mince and potatoes. But hold that thought, and examine our seemingly superior Western legislation. Just like the pickle, the dynasty of death is a brazen festival percussionist who is celebratory in her bitter and gustatory inevitability. Jizyah is that taxation which is imposed upon those who fail to conform to those expected societal norms. Although we have the status quo, one cannot help but wonder what happened to the rectitudes of individuality and paradoxical equality? So, where do we go, oh navigator of the great and mighty West? Marrakech or Rabat? I have no concrete awareness of where solace is to be found. I am lost! Therefore, I can only offer the following direction: Contemplate the ever-changing intricacy of the dunes in anthropological amazement and acknowledge the sky at night. Allow the celestial pole of the North Star to speak to your deep uncertainty. Our purpose is openly displayed if we simply open our heart in the midst of our Bedouin oasis. That, my friend, is the essence of being psychosocial.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC
Dear Pickle,
You are making my face sour. Mom is mad at you for skipping school and I have to talk her down again.
Maybe next time you can write me a 1200 word essay on "How stupid your decisions are", So I can mark it up with red pen before you lose grades on your ribs.
Sister, you need to calm your *** down, because the world isn't a race and the underdog doesn't always come in first, or even second.
But take a second to stop breathing that smoke you call air, everybody is choking on the smell of teen-spirit.
The tattoos not yet ingaved in your skin will serve as a reminder of how you took last place in a family full of sharp broken pieces of glass.
I tell Mom "Don't worry, it's just a phase, she just needs a second to find her place, in this world" But, at this rate, I'm not sure you will.
Because, people will knock on your door and hand you bottles of quick fixes and Novocaine, and I hope that this poem isn't in vain to serve as a reminder of that little girl that still caught fireflies in her teeth.
And I am sorry I left for 3 years without watching your molecules multiply, but I wrote my times tables on the back of my diploma for you to study.
That 6 year old girl with woodland creature cheeks hasn't been forgotten.
That 6 year old girl who never failed to puke in the car after a glass of milk hasn't been forgotten.
That 6 year old girl that cried every time we told anyone you are cat food under the kitchen table hasn't been forgotten.
I am sorry, can you bring her back now?
And for me, could you stop making Mom cry, she has watered so many Forget-me-nots that I am afraid her roots are drowning.
Don't get me wrong. I appreciate all the time you bared swords and shields to defend me against the stereotypes that threatened to staple them themselves to the inside of our cheeks, but come on...get your **** together.
We are blood-brothers...with vaginas.
Don't you dare break that bond because if you do I will lock you in the closet, turn the lights of and leave you in there screaming and crying until the rebellion leaves your bladder.
I'm your sister, not your mother. I will not birth any more brother screw-ups for you to father.
Love,
Vinegar.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 2:39 PM UTC
Man can't live on bread alone
Even magic'd from a stone
Jesus Christ said
"Cheese is nice!"
"Once a day or maybe twice"
"And as we're turning stones to bread
We'll make this water a glass of red"
Who'd of thought he'd be so fickle
The 'naughty boy' he conjured pickle
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 7:18 AM UTC
Cray-Z...
*You know that you are, ******* crazy?*
*Think up a new grand goal to meet,
then drop the blotter, -to compete.*
*Are you movin' on up?
to the top, to a deluxe compartment in your mi-ind?*
Lenny?
Saul admired David...
"Admired,"
him.
dissolved him in, David.
*You know that you are, ******* crazy?*
*Look at the hands, -they swirl in, ceiling paint...
Thinking like this the world is NO constraint.*
Fuzzy
Futzy
Fickle
Fiber
Pick a pickle Whitley Streiber.
*Gargle,
Gasp, rinse and repeat.*
*Then Devil for the Heaven's seat,
and find a tiny child to eat,
for tasty things water mouth with treat,
nothing stained by water's meet or tendered strangely as complete.*
Crazy...
Carpet fibers tickle my neck.
I am a house.
Household item.
Bleach feels funny on the fingers,
they still won't change color back?
*Think up a new grand goal to meet,
then drop the blotter, -to compete.
Then Devil for the Heaven's seat,
and find a tiny child to eat,
for tasty things water mouth with treat,
nothing stained by water's meet or tendered strangely incomplete.*
Crazy you know that you are...
...is that wall supposed to be flashing?
!!!!GET OFF MY ROCKER!!!!*
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 9:25 PM UTC
You were born on a cusp.
friends on the other side
couldn't decide,
Scorpio or Libra.
You yourself,
as constant as the tides.
A tenth sign ram
was blessed to cross
your lovely path
and the ram learned:
Short curly hair
pinned back reveal
asiatic eyes.
As you pass by and by
Time and time hearts race
Chicken salad sandwich,
its moist mayonnaise
is never as delicious
without a pickle.
Grubhub.
No, Scrubhub.
Too content to leave the room.
Yummy Rummy,
food in our tummy.
forever.
Broth, cheese and wine.
Mushrooms and time.
If ever I tasted love,
it was shared with me,
in a recipe.
Sound opinion in scores.
Royal, like the Tenenbaums.
Bill Murray fantastic.
Pink Moon over and over and over.
Divide that by nine.
And now I know,
almost as well as you,
how good Goodfellas is,
even after the tenth time.
Early morning awakenings or
snooze again and again and again.
Paralyzed in a dream or
awoken with a scream,
we tried a routine:
Once parts of a team,
a memory faster than it seemed.
Ran for miles.
A boy and girl in the hall,
amongst the boys and girls
in the hall.
Digital regulars in ecstasy.
Wake next to you a daydreamer.
So, when life gets hard,
and you're feeling down,
don't be so glum,
ignore your doubts,
don't feel left out,
I'll be there for you,
when you need me to.
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 5:48 PM UTC
Pickle Haiku
F J McCarthy on Jul 17, 2009
Green fresh cucumber
Drowning in spiced vinegar
Reborn a pickle
Jul 10, 2010
Jul 10, 2010 at 3:31 PM UTC
Someone stole the last piece of my turkey sandwich.
I bet the ************ put some pepper on it.
I hope it was pepper from that
***** *** pepper-shaker that is no longer see-through.
That ******* left me with one poker-chip pickle slice and
Those pieces of potato chips that you
Have to spear with a fingertip to eat.
That son-of-a-bitch!
I am sure he put mustard on that last piece of turkey sandwich;
In that delicate delicatessen squiggly pattern that is all in the wrist.
-And, speaking of wrist, that ******* forged my signature perfectly.
He even put another Lone Star bottle on my tab then
Neatly arranged the bottle caps next to four toothpicks.
*That suave ************
To honor him, when I get home
I am going to smoke his ****
**** his girlfriend and take his ****
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
I feel like a pickle in jar.
Drowning in salty tears.
Waiting on a shelf for
someone to want me.
To drag me out of this
lonely jar and take a bite
of my tear soaked body.
I am waiting for someone
to tell the difference between
a cucumber and a pickle.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC
The Peppered Pickle Clown
(Peppered Pickle Day)
This is a story you may not know
And it's banned in pickle town
It's about a peppered pickle
That became a circus clown
He started out his short life
Looking through a stained glass jar
Watching his sweet pickled brother
Become a kosher star
Although his peppered pickled life was sweet
This peppered pickle wanted more
He would join the circus as a clown
And be a smash that fans adored
At first it started slowly
No fans would call his name
But a peppered pickle as a clown
Well thats funny just the same
As time went on he made them laugh
They started yelling for him more
Then a show was given just to him
And a peppered pickle day was born
All the fans they ordered pickles
On peppered pickles they would gorge
Then one day there came a time
When peppered pickles they ran short
The peppered pickle clown knew right then
That it was time to make his mark
So he made a deal with Vlasic corp.
To put peppered pickles in their jars
Well Vlasic corp. invited him
To come take a private tour
They said that he would relish it
And be a cut up in the stores
They put the peppered pickle clown
In a clown chair and tied him down
They said it was for safety
As the belt showed him all around
The belt went slow when starting out
Picked up speed as it went along
The peppered pickle clown was sliced and diced
Vlasic didn't clown around
So remember the peppered pickle clown
When you shop at your home store
He gave his life for stardom
And thats why you now pay more
Today is peppered pickle day
And should be known the world around
Made famous by a sweet delight
The peppered pickle clown
Carl J. Roberts
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 7:14 AM UTC
The fiery red light was staring into my soul.
There was nobody around...
So naturally I hit the gas.
Looked up in that rear view
and some crazy blue lights were ashinin'.
Then came my swerve of shame to the beckoning curb.
My friend to the right kept his cool
While mowing down on two cheese burgers
As he ate, I shook with a casual fear.
The talk with the police was brief
I handed him my license and registration
and he skipped back over to that cop car.
I sat in fear
he ate burgers
we waited
My boy the police came right on back.
he gave me the blissful news.
NO TICKET.
He began the lecture of eating and driving.
that's when my little burger eater chimed right in.
"Sir, I was just handing her a pickle"
I confirmed the statement.
And next thing I knew I was rollin the streets again
Lucked out.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC
Please explain inflation
Why do prices rise
For when I go out shopping
They change before my eyes
I just don't seem to get it
why some go up and down
Why a red car's more expensive
Than a new car that is brown
I tried to do some simple math
I went back to the books
Now I think that all economists
Are just white collar crooks
Follow me on this one, now..
A buck in 1970 is now worth near five fifty
I don't know how they did it
But I think it's kind of shifty
A funeral costs much more today
But this one is a pickle
For in western movies I have seen
My life's worth a plugged nickel
That hasn't changed in many years
So, I made a decision
It has to do with the new math
And that ****** new long division
Wheat is up, and so is beer
And theres one that I resent
To put my worth in when it's asked
It's still just two **** cents
A house...well, that's a nightmare
Some cost more than you will earn
You'll be owing for a lifetime
Your mortgage you won't burn
Water, there's another thing
It's now worth more than gas
But now, our nice tap water
It's quality won't pass
Six cents would get you postage
To send a letter, that's not bad
Today..it's almost ten times that
And that is really sad
But here's one that's confusing
Of all the things you've bought
This one's never varied
It's still a penny for your thoughts
two bits could get a haircut
And it would also get a shave
But now to get this combo
It takes two weeks to save
Hockey cards they cost a dime
And baseball cards did too
But, now they're an investment
And a dime won't buy you two.
Please think on this real hard now
It's a tale that's really old
Let's find how Rumplestiltskin
Could spin straw into gold
Inflation is a ******
It's all over the earth
I say smile, and then bend over
And that's my two cents worth!
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 5:02 PM UTC
The boy haden't bathed in over a month
His **** crack was itching and burning
His underpants were soaked in slimy, wet muck
And his toes a thick jam were churning
His armpits stank worse than a fat pigs raw ***
His breath smelled like rancid fish
His hair was so oily, matted to his head
His own mother wouldn't give him a kiss
"Enough!" he cried as a passing fly died
When he raised his arm to exclaim.
"I must bathe right away! I am long overdue!"
"I sure hope the washcloths are brave."
"To the bathroom man!" He shouted as he ran
And his underpants sloppily squished
"I will remove this filth and brush my green teeth"
"And my mother I will kiss!"
"The closet's ahead!" He said as he sped.
And he stopped there to get some stuff.
Some soap, some shampoo and a towel or two.
But he knew that it wasn't enough.
Look though he might, to his horror and fright,
Not a single washcloth could he find.
Then panic set in 'cause the stink of his skin
Was driving him out of his mind.
He looked yet again but to his chagrin
The washcloth shelf was bare.
The washcloths had run off
For they would not wash
So filthy a boy on a dare
"Oh what will I do!" "Boo-hoo, boo-hoo!"
The boy cried as flies swarmed his head.
"I'd **** myself but I already smell"
"Far worse than anything dead!"
Then one washcloth came back
Holding it's nose and a sack
Of bath salts that smelled like dill.
It said to the boy "Go pickle yourself!"
"And give me a nausea pill!"
So the boy rejoiced and filled the tub
With water, hot as he could stand.
And using the bath salts, he jumped right in
And the pickling began.
He lathered the washcloth with water and soap
And scrubbed with all of his might.
Away he washed all of the filth
'Til none was left in sight.
He washed his hair and brushed his teeth
And dried and dressed himself well.
And the washcloth exclaimed as it hung on the tub
"Holy crap! that was pure hell!"
So the boy now clean ran to be seen
By his mother he loved so much.
And she gave him a kiss and said "This is pure bliss!"
"I can kiss you and keep down my lunch!"
The moral I'll tell you and true I will be
So no one will say that I lied.
Don't wait a whole month to take a bath
Or you washcloths may run and hide.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 7:53 AM UTC
he, hardly fit,
sleeps fitfully
he, like a baby,
up and down at 2am
the cerebrum racked,
like a street *** so needy,
for a low caloric,
non-alcoholic snack
pickles - the almost zero solution,
dill in particular,
or even the slightly bad boy cousins,
the buttered variety
so in his customized original
100% sleeping skin gear,
standing in front of the shiniest fridge
gleaming,
his unfortunate reflection somewhat
steamy,
indecisive, which, his pickle, to to choose,
which to eat, completely complete,
to celebrate his dietetic restraint
so she, the yoga ballerina lioness,
finds him upright but not uptight,
leaving him in an awkward
so to speak, poem, pickling,
naked and speechless,
as the mouth is fully engorged
and on point
she summarizes
most eloquently,
the ****** and the crudités and the et. al.,
with a succinctly pithy observation:
*"ah, I see (me wincing),
still crazy after all these years*
...and other stories*
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 8:03 PM UTC
This is a story of a very loving girl who let her love take her all over the world. A man once convinced her that she was unworthy, and when he threw her out, she left in a hurry. She never looked back and scurried through the states until she found home at her families gates.
Once that man hurt her, she wanted to help others. She gave nothing but love and she nurtured as a mother. Some people accepted the love that she gave and they seemed to love her back so she decided to stay.
The girl fell in love with being loved and got carried away. She ran around experiencing love - every second, each day. Eventually she got herself into a pickle; her heart was strong but her mind, very fickle. She could never belong to only one because she felt she should be there for everyone.
After all of the people that came and went, she never once forgot the time that was spent. The stories, those moments, the love that was shared; she gave out so much love that her heart became bare. She endured great amounts of emotional ware, with some physical injuries that gave doctors a scare. She became very careless with everyone soon and discarded them after they'd been in her bedroom.
Please don't be mislead, the ending is bad, it's another love story with an ending quite sad. After all of the loving and hurting was done, she took a step back to see what she'd become. Much to her dismay she was seemingly **** for the lovers she loved once, had all come undone.
An ugly society, to which she'd finally succumb, molded her into the person from which all this begun. Who knows if you're reading or listening now, but she wants you to know what you've done. Take a bow.
kd
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 6:54 PM UTC
A whole new spiral,
Trees upon a coil,
Ink from leagues,
Written feathers,
Drizzled down as oil,
Evermore,
Nevermore,
Less is more,
All.
Reverse inside-out,
Springs before fall,
Trojan powered horses,
Mother Nature's fickle,
In life we really are all,
Trapped within a pickle...
Steal the base,
Capture the flag,
Always run the risk,
Chess played on a checker board,
Hands turned into fists...
The endless stairs,
Rise & fall,
Chutes & ladders,
Poles,
Elevated,
Reciprocated,
Orbital magnetic pull...
This way,
That way,
Three rights make a left,
Two of either,
Horizontal shift,
Four times,
Stuck in circles...
Full Moon,
Half Moon,
Crescent Moon,
**** cheeks...
Face cheeks,
Two lips,
Uranus,
**** facts...
The Owl asks "Who?"
Not how many licks,
Cracked.
Tongue twister,
Riddle fister,
******* fcking dcks...
Creation.
Destruction.
Under construction,
Living life,
Chasing death,
Don't forget to function...
Playing hooky,
Hooked on phonics,
Telephone,
Hello?
Lose the "O",
Cheerios,
Rolled away,
Hell.
Pacific Bell,
Pack Bell,
Liberty Bell,
Cracked.
Xs,
Os,
Hugs,
Kisses,
Followed crumbs,
Smacked...
Cacophony of words,
Magnified to deaf,
Pantomime,
Mr. Mime,
Jynx,
Hypnotic crest...
Abra,
Kadabra,
Apply directly to the forehead...
Water your brain,
Fertilize,
Extra fries,
Exercise...
A to Z,
1, 2, 3...
F*cking A,
We say...
Today is here,
The end is near,
All come here to stay...
Escape rope untethered,
Weather altered sky day.
Gaze at stars,
Hollywood floor,
Rich,
Poor,
More...
Life is great,
Life is crap,
You decide,
Not me...
Cause all I see,
Is cacophony...
No sense inside of "we"...
Here we are,
We've come so far,
RELAX...
Have fun at last...
Half full,
Half empty,
Shattered...
At least we have the glass......
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 5:28 PM UTC
love eating pickles
love putting pickles in my shoes
love the pickles on my toes
love that stinky pickle smell
love eating pickles
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 6:28 PM UTC
The fruit rolled by all day.
They prayed the cogs would creep;
They thought about Saturday pay,
And Sunday sleep.
Whatever he smelled was good:
The fruit and flesh smells mixed.
There beside him she stood,--
And he, perplexed;
He, in his shrunken britches,
Eyes rimmed with pickle dust,
Prickling with all the itches
Of sixteen-year-old lust.
4.1k
Pickles for one
Pickles for two
Pickles for some
Pickles for few
Pickles for smiles
Pickles for laughs
Pickles in wholes
Pickles in halves
Pickles for Henry
Pickles for Sue
Pickles for everyone
Pickles for you
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 8:37 PM UTC
As the song says you are unforgettable
In every way.
Your perfume, your smile,
Your pickle stabber.
Your only tooth
Unforgettable.
I'd run a mile
To tell the truth
Regrettable.
But there you are.
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 8:46 AM UTC
SPRING
Spring is the king of the seasons
Ugadi is the first of the festivals
We wear new clothes
And eat delicious broths
Mother prepares the customary mango pickle
Father worships the sickle
Nature is in her full bloom
There is no room for any gloom
The cuckoo sings early in the morning
The farmer is ready for harvesting
There are new born leaves
And pleasant breezes
Every tree has a flower
There is flowing water in the river
The wind blows very softly
The birds fly very swiftly
The winter was very cold
But the spring is very beautiful to behold
Ugadi brings in new hopes
The farmer depends on yearly crops
May this new year bring in peace!
I am able to write a poetic piece
by JVL NARASIMHA RAO
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 7:38 PM UTC
I sensually rub pickles
on your torso.
My lust for you
is like black coffee.
Really strong with an after effect of diarrhea
I am jittery for you my dear
Let me rub this yo-yo all over your ear.
A thief broke into my house
and saw a naked grandma
so he left.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 1:27 AM UTC
The local mall now has a Spenser’s Gifts;
I remember that place fondly as Al and I
make our way.
It’s where I sneaked a peek at Samantha Fox’s ****
for the first time,
saw my first **** ring,
wondering why anyone would want one.
I bought my first Metallica shirt at a Spencer’s;
spending twenty of my dad’s dollars.
Spencer’s and Record Wear House
were sanctuaries;
my escape from what my classmates
took for normal.
I took my son into that store
so that he could see the X-Men hats
and Deadpool shirts, the banana and pickle
pens caught his eye,
but I had to point out one more.
“What’s that one?” I asked.
Alex made a face, but in the end
he did what any 14 year old boy should,
he chuckled.
I took him in that store so that we both
could escape.
Earlier he walked the mall
a good fifteen feet ahead of us.
We stopped for ice cream.
He chose a soda and wouldn’t sit with us.
It took a second, but
I figured him out.
He was trying his teenaged self out;
testing his wings.
As we walked, he’d wave at classmates
and be either sturdily ignored or given a cursory nod.
It was obvious that he wanted so much more.
It pained us, my wife and I.
So, I took him into Spencer’s gifts
in an effort to remove some of his innocence and awkwardness.
It may not have been the wisest move,
but at least, for a moment,
both of us felt peace.
-JB CLaywell
©P&ZPublications; 2014
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
There's spring and there's summer, there's all that's in between
no listless skies of anodyne; now nature flaunts and preens
What beauty fills the hungry eye 'neath a sky of blue, serene
verdant vales soaked in sun, awash in palettes of green
There are pastels that awaken and deep shades that passion brews
created hues that trickle...sprinkled with 'chartreuse'
There's the green of 'asparagus' and that of 'artichokes'
Of 'forest', 'ferns' , of 'moss', a brush of different strokes
Fragrant plants of 'mint', then 'myrtle' and 'green tea'
'Emerald', 'jade' or 'harlequin' and 'malachites' that be
Off creamy shells, just 'pistachio', 'green apples', then of 'pines'
It lies too in 'sap' and 'teal', in 'avocados' and tangy 'lime'
There's green of the 'mantis', in 'jungle', 'hunters' and 'shamrock'
The lithe 'parakeet' fluttering and the lazy sanguine 'croc'
In blessed 'basil', ' pickle', in 'pear', 'olives' in 'bottle green'
'Gourds' and 'peas' that farmers grow in cultivars pristine
'Tis there in 'aqua' and 'seaweed', in the ripple of 'sea green' waves
In 'turtles', 'sea foam', 'anemone' and a 'tropical glistening lake'
From 'laurel green' to an 'army green' , in 'sage' ( a shade of grey )
The color of 'grass' , the murky 'swamp' , hues in array
There's 'neon' and an 'Indian green', a 'Persian' one to mystify
A 'midnight green' to bright 'fluorescent', oh, for green rainbows in the eye
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 10:30 AM UTC