💌 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 pack...