An Open Letter to the Man Who Made my Quesadilla

Dear Sir,

When I ordered my quesadilla with sausage, spinach, and jalapenos this morning, I anticipated that that latter ingredient would be sparsely populated like a meeting of the "Paris Hilton Embodies Wholesomeness Club." Boy, was I wrong.

In the quesadilla you made, there was a whole layer of jalapenos. Eating this quesadilla was a test of my pain threshold. Why, oh why did you put so many on here? Is that the way you would like your quesadilla? Cheesy and painful?

My initial response was akin to the fat extra's response to his car getting messed up in The Big Lebowski: "You kill my @%$#ing car? I'll kill your @#$#ing car!" except less funny because I am not as fat and not in my boxers, and this was more about tongues than cars.

I expect an apology and, once my mouth heals over, another quesadilla that is especially delicious.

Your Friend,
Analyst Catalyst