You see, because pickles do not grow in threes (I mean trees) ; pickles as anyone knows grow under a rock. There in the dark cool damp of the cave, they do their things, and have little interest in coming out to the sunny breezy above. Unless, of course, it's to go on caps.
Should some good fellows (especially if with good moustachios, but even otherwise) need a good hat decoration for their hardcaps of WAR!!! then the pickle could perhaps be coaxed into the sun, above the ground. Then the fellows could adopt it as the ur-decoration for all their masculine millinery, resulting in something quite akin the celebrated picklehaube.
But who would the picklehauberks go to war with ?
Well... obviously some guys obsessed with sweet creams and beaten eggwhites shaped in shapes, held together by sugar : the frankly famous & frizzy fabulous bezelei berrets! Whom were embezzled from, because... well... mit Pomaden bezalt...
That'd be all, really.———
- As in that joke whereby the diabetic went to the doctor to complain about his wife's yeast infection :
"Ok, " said the good doctor, "but how about yourself ?"
"Well doctor... I'm a diabetic", answered the diabetic.
"Ok, so ?"
"So what should we do ?"
"Faceti bezele!" [↩]