Warrrior Words: I am not Michael Bloomberg, really

This semester I am taking Child Development as an elective; I won’t bore you with the minutiae involved in making Play-Doh pies, but suffice it to say that I’d much rather have a luxurious free period than be subjected to the melodious sound of squealing toddlers. Despite how irresistibly adorable they might be, it is known that they are alien monsters, and I like to keep my distance.
As I usually avoid entering the actual preschool classroom, the task of preparing a special snack was thrust upon me, and so I found myself stirring red food coloring into a vat of whipped cream. Upon closer inspection, I realized that the fluffy substance which I had doctored to a frightening shade of pink was not whipped cream after all, but a suspicious agent labeled “Whipped Topping.” A quick glance at the ingredients, and the jig was up: The little monsters were about to be served apples with a dollop of hydrogenated vegetable oil and high fructose corn syrup.
Please do not misunderstand me. I am not a food fanatic; I enjoy the occasional batch of salty French fries and fried chicken as much as the next person. However, there are certain dietary violations I simply cannot tolerate.

Public Enemy number one is Skippy’s peanut butter. Tellingly, the jar is labeled “peanut butter spread” due to the fact it contains an insufficient percentage of peanuts to be classified as “peanut butter.” The contents of true peanut butter separate; there is a layer of oil that sits atop the peanut paste. However, the aforementioned offender is inexplicably smooth throughout; a good PB&J has a little bit of that nutty, nitty-gritty texture that sticks to the insides of your gums. While I understand that not everyone is prepared to drop nine dollars on a mammoth jar of organic raw almond butter from Whole Foods, there is absolutely no reason to purchase Skippy’s. It’s Lindsay Lohan posing as Marilyn Monroe.
I am not going to probe into the strange realm of Cheetos and Doritos and other various foodstuffs smothered in radioactive orange particles because I’m not convinced they were intended for human consumption. On an instinctive level, people should be repelled from foods like these simply because a glaring neon color indicates a potentially poisonous substance, so I would like to extend a personal thank-you to all Orange Foodstuff aficionados who are selfless enough to devour these toxic products to spare the rest of us.
If you decide to leech calcium from your bones by drinking soda, that is your prerogative, but do not attempt to masquerade this as a healthy choice by consuming diet soda. There is absolutely no redeeming nutritional value to flavored carbonated water either way; one should accept this and infrequently indulge in the full-calorie, sugar-saturated original rather than ingesting a host of carcinogenic artificial sweeteners that taste like aluminum.
A few weeks ago, as I was struggling to complete a set of sit-ups at the gym, the receptionist left his perch and returned a few minutes later with a hefty bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich on a puffy white roll. I was suddenly filled with rage. This is a fitness center, I griped internally, and no one should be allowed to eat that in here.
Then I remembered that I live in America and my name is not Michael Bloomberg, so I dashed over to Burrito Shack and inhaled a platter of nachos.

Alosha Southern is a senior at Wilton High School and shares this column with four classmates.