Alright pal, we get it: you like Sriracha. And you know, most people don’t hate it, but that’s really no excuse to abuse it. If you sit down and mix a little with your rice and beans, or even with your egg noodles, I wouldn’t bat an eye; if you had stopped at that agreeable point, I certainly wouldn’t have written this piece. But you’ve pushed and pushed, and so here we are.

Your bacon and eggs are flushed red, afloat in a boiling sea of trendy hot sauce. Whenever I glance over you’re adding more, and looking at me the whole time. You clearly aren’t measuring with a discerning eye because, it seems to me, you’re so focused on my noticing your sick habit that you can’t stop.

What am I supposed to do, tell you that you’re the God of Sriracha? Your eyes are brimming and your face is scarlet red. If I continue to encourage this habit you might puke up your entire meal — however, if I say nothing, you may well die of a hot sauce overdose next time we get burritos in your latest attempt to get me to notice.

So here it goes, “You must really like Sriracha.” Are you happy? What does it really mean at this point? You’ve clearly forced my hand. I hope you’re satisfied.

Piece contributed by Amanda Webb, freelance journalist and eater of various foods