HUMOR

I Still Can’t Open My Jar Of Olives After 1 Year Of Hardcore Workouts: My Battle With Figaro

An open letter to Figaro Italian green olives and my manhood

I first encountered my nemesis in the local grocer one dark Tuesday evening a year ago. It was dark because it was night time. The grocer solved this problem with electric lights. I enjoy lighting.

I also enjoy olives. Usually, I prefer black olives. The grocer did not have black olives on this occasion. I was displeased but decided not to yell at anyone.

They did have a salty receptacle of olive-green olives though. I knew they were salty because it said salt was the main ingredient. I thought that would be olives. But I am not a smart man.

These olives turned out to be the biggest mistake in my entire life.

I could not open these green olives. It sat on my kitchen’s redwood antique shelf for one month. It stared at me. Figaro threw some of that salt in my eyes every time I merely glanced its way. Its subtle existence was an affront to my manhood. It was taunting me constantly.

“You’re a little bitch, aren’t you?” Figaro once told me.

I knew it was referring to me as I was the only one that lived there.

“I bet you want to eat some of these salty balls, don’t you?”

Figaro was not a nice jar. But I had a plan. I would open it. I would overcome this great challenge.

I quit my job on the first day of the second month. I had no other choice. I needed to defeat this nemesis. I signed up for a gym membership immediately.

I got a great deal. It was only $1000 for 1000 hours. I knew it was a good deal because Chad the trainer told me it was. And that if I didn’t like it he would break my legs.

I knew leg-breaking surgery would cost me more than $1000, so I promptly signed. And my quest began.

The next 12 months of my life were the most difficult days of my time on earth. Chad told me about all the best workings to out.

Here is that plan for anyone that is also battling a salty jar of green assholes:

1. 8 daily runs per day, to be performed every other day
2. P90X routine 5 times a week (you dodge bullets from a P90 machine gun)
3. 309.4 pull-ups every third hour
4. Lots and lots of steroids

After 12 months of hardcore training like the pros, I knew I was ready. The day came for the big battle. The final test. The SAT of my manhood. I was ready.

What ensued was the most epic battle since The Hobbit’s credits section. Some of the producers had fought over whose name should appear first.

I approached Figaro with the calm of a man who had spent an incredible amount of money and time at a gym the last year. And was full of 3.4 liters of grade B steroids.

“You wouldn’t fucking dare.” Figaro sputtered.

I did dare. I lept as a crouching tiger king would onto a straight human male in a zoo. Figaro was unprepared for this assault. It merely stood there glaring.

Soon it started rolling off the shelf. It was so desperate it felt like kamikazeing rather than face the wrath of its predator.

Luckily, I chose the cheapest option for kitchen carpeting. It’s very fluffy and economical. It also came with free stains. But on this day, it prevented the fanatical Figaro from committing olivicide on my floor.

We wrestled for what felt like hours. A battle of life and death. An epic of the ages. A story for Christmas dinner around the table at the insane asylum Aunt Martha said I was going to live at someday.

But I couldn’t stand to lose after a whole year of effort. This was unacceptable. I eventually had to bring in some outside help. I quickly hid from Figaro in the corner and called over Big Jenny from down the hall.

We call her big because she is tiny. Some people tell me that’s ironic humor. Maybe she’s good at ironing.

I attacked again and was repulsed.

Then Big Jen went at it.

It appeared Figaro had had enough, as he quickly capitulated.

At last, the demon of Italy had been defeated! I promptly celebrated by chugging the entire jar. This is not advised.

I’m just glad the greatest challenge of my life has been overcome. Even if I needed Jenny’s little hands to help.

But I’m sure I loosened the lid first.

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