Dear whoever ate all the cheese popcorn from the “Chicago Style” mix,
Listen, I get it. I get that the cheese popcorn is your favorite; it’s everyone’s favorite. But that doesn’t mean you get to steal those little kernels of cheddary joy from everyone else. Everyone, and I do mean everyone, knows that the proper ratio is two cheese to one caramel. It keeps the world from collapsing into chaos, you asshole.
I hope you know you’re not above the caramel corn. The caramel corn is obviously put there for a reason, and, if you can’t see that, then maybe you should take it up with Mr. Garrett himself. You can’t have all the cheese without a little caramel—it’s a metaphor for life’s ups and downs.
Come to think of it, I can’t even begin to imagine your grimy little sausages digging through the bag, knowingly searching for all the orange pieces of joy and avoiding the sweet, light brown caramel amongst them. Don’t even give me that “all the caramel was on the bottom” bullshit. You’re a liar and you know it.
So now I’m left with a bag full of caramel popcorn. I hope you’re happy. I hope you’re happy that the caramelized sheets of sugar will rest themselves in my teeth and whither away the roof of my mouth. I hope that, one day, you are put in my position, and you curse the name of whoever robbed you of your cheese popcorn. I wish a lifetime of kettle corn on you and your loved ones. Oh, and one more thing: fuck you.