TROY, OH – I’ve never been one to make a big scene when things don’t go my way. To be candid, I would say that I’m a very amicable person in most situations. However, there comes a point when someone needs to rise up and stand for justice. Make true and moral changes for the good of the world. Help to bring about equality for all. And this is why I’m finally taking a stand against one of the greatest injustices I’ve incurred over the past year.

To set some background, I’ve been a connoisseur of snacks and treats over the past 40 years. Now, this isn’t something I’ve often talked about, but my passion for treats has led me on journeys across the world, finding delicious delectables to enjoy AT MY OWN PACE. Anything from a raw herring sandwich to a bowl of salted licorice candy will make me a very happy opinion columnist. I’m a simple man with very simple pleasures.

I’ve budgeted 50% of my time off from my work with the Miami County Bugle Caller to my venerated Snack Quests. My wife knows this, and I’ve told her many times that I will be back soon. Please leave my durian on the table to air out. I’ll be back to eat my balut and it should be grown in two days, please don’t disturb it. Those witchetty grubs can still dry out for a few days, I can’t wait to eat them when I return.

On and on, I’ll tell her of these wonderful treats, and how they’re the only thing that’s truly brought me joy in this bleak existence. And yet, we’ve hit somewhat of an impasse. It started when I noticed most of my salt and vinegar ice cream had already been eaten. When I asked my wife about it, she tried to claim I had a large bowl two weeks prior, however I know better. This particular ice cream leaves my urine a neon orange color for weeks, and at the time my piss was completely clear.

Since then, the amount of PAIN and SUFFERING inflicted on me by my wife’s careless consumption has gone completely unchecked. My durian certainly didn’t just evaporate, did it? My lamb and mint chips had to have gone somewhere. And then I come home to find nothing more than a worthless, common bag of Lay’s, and a bag of oranges has taken the place of my uniquely sourced delectables. At this point, I decided I needed proof that I wasn’t going mad, so I set up a sting.

I left a jar of fermented fish paste out on the counter, then set up in the closet next to our kitchen and waited. When I heard movement, I snuck quietly around the corner. To my surprise, I saw my wife sitting over our kitchen sink with the jar in hand, haphazardly tipping the jar over the sink, losing valuable paste to the sewer system. While I certainly appreciate that my wife has great taste, this waste is egregious, and certainly when these delicacies each have a unique story and mean so much more to me than anything my wife and I have done together in our 25 years of marriage.

So BEVERLY, YOU’RE ON NOTICE. STOP TOUCHING MY SNACKS. THEY’RE NOT FOR YOU. I WILL DIVORCE YOU IF YOU EVER WASTE ANOTHER ONE OF MY SHRIMP CRACKERS. SO HELP ME GOD I WILL TAKE OUT A BILLBOARD SMEARING YOUR NAME IF ANY OF MY HÀKARL GOES MISSING FROM HERE FORWARD. YOU HEAR ME BEVERLY?? I’M NOT FUCKING AROUND ANY MORE.