My car is constructed of pickles.It's wonderfully crunchy and sweet.If ever I'm hungry while drivingI pull off a pickle to eat.The engine is made out of gherkins.The dashboard's an extra-large dill.The windows and wipers are kosher as well as the bumpers and grille.The hood's made of hamburger slices.The gas tank is brimming with brine.The doors are delectably salty.The stickshift is simply divine.There's one little problem I'm having.I'm sure you would know what I meanif ever you saw this contraption;my marvelous pickle machine.I guess I've included my autoin just a few too many mealsand now it won't budge when I start it;it seems I have eaten the wheels.