🟠Breaking Up with Beef Jerky: A Quiet Fighter’s Final Straw

💌 A Break-Up Letter to Beef Jerky

By Caleb — the Quiet Fighter with a Tender Gut and Zero Tolerance for BS

Dear Beef Jerky,

We need to talk. And before you even flex your leathery little muscles—I’m not here to fight. I’m here to walk away.

You and I? We had a thing once. I thought you were tough, bold, full of flavor… the kind of snack that said, “Yeah, I survive the wild.” But it turns out, I’m not into survival mode snacks anymore. I’m into peace. I'm into regulation. I'm into not bleeding out of my rectum at the worst possible moment.

Remember that spicy episode? You know the one—where you sneak-attacked me with a flavor so hot I literally shut down, lost speech, and had to stim my way back to Earth? Yeah. That wasn’t cute. That was traumatic.

And now… you made me bleed.

In the most humiliating way possible.

Through my underwear. Through my pants.

In broad daylight.

That’s not love. That’s violence.

I don’t care how protein-packed you are. I don’t care how rugged your packaging looks or how many cowboys you claim to fuel. You're not food—you're a hazard. A health code violation in a plastic pouch.

So this is me, finally saying:

I deserve better.

I deserve snacks that comfort, not punish.

I deserve soft foods that treat my insides like royalty, not a battlefield.

So goodbye, jerky. May you find someone with a digestive tract made of steel and no trauma history. But that someone sure as hell ain’t me.

Sincerely,

Caleb

(A survivor of the Cow Meat Conspiracy & Proud Wielder of a Stim Cube)