Adventures of Jaley Evans

Short note Monkey Pickles would like to take the time to thank the writer @ The Invisible Seductress for wnating to respond to the call of "Monkey Pickles Searching" a new character adventure has been created.

So it begins......

I was traveling by supply truck to a very secluded location. With every bump the truck’s cavity shook ominously. The terrain was very rocky and we were told we were on a perilous back road. Not to worry, our heavily armed confidant divulged, it is heavily patrolled and swept for land mines or ambush.
I had been blindfolded hours ago as to further protect the destination. It was only myself and one other journalist being given this elite access. I didn’t see him but I recognized his voice and the smell of fruit jam. It was Willard Scott, I was in the company of a virtuoso of news reporting. The mood was tense and I stayed alert to every inexplicable noise and motion. Willard, ever the professional, was calmly chatting it up with the guard while I nervously practiced my interview in my head. With every jar he selflessly protected my heaving chest with a nice firm squeeze. He even grasped my thigh when he thought I was slipping off the thin metal bench seat. We finally arrived at location and were lead into an empty metal corridor before being unmasked. Long and wide, it was devoid of character and sound bounced off every wall like a ricocheting bullet. The air was musty and a rancid oil smell lingered thickly. It was an aroma that I had dreamt about my whole fledgling career. I drank it in, like a Russian man gulping Vodka. Willard just smiled at my wonder and touched my waist caringly making sure I was stable for the walk. Thousands of bellowing footsteps later we arrived at the main door, which opened with a moan. The air wafting out of the room overtook me with emotion. The sounds of crumpling and reverberating voices were deafening. Then something utterly amazing happened! A worker screamed uncontrollably and all sound ceased in reverence. Her words were foreign but the tone of excitement palpable. I stood in the underground CPCIRL. The surreptitious Celebrity Potato Chip Image Recognition Lab. The underground location where the hallowed “Potato Chip President” display is being held. I stood in awe in the very facility Angelina, Brad and all of their spud’s faces are represented regally in potato chip form. Everyday, 350 expert Potato Chip Recognition Technicians peruse 300,000 bags of plain potato chips. I was there for the astonishing inauguration of a new celebrity chip. Willard embraced me and tenderly kissed my cheek close to my agape mouth. After intense image verification, the chip was deemed an authentic replica and the crowd erupted in celebration. Today the first ever potato chip image of Lady GaGa was found and in chip form, there was no bump.




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