T. GAMBLE: Food fight gets out of hand

I recently read where Daniel Brian Blackwell, who lives in a suburb of Baltimore, Md., was charged with aggravated assault, attempted murder, reckless endangerment and several weapons charges. I know, what’s the big deal about that, given we have two or three murders per day in Chicago and rarely a day goes by here at home that I don’t hear of something similar?

It was not his crime that struck me but rather the motivation behind it.

You see, it appears Dan’s wife took a bite out of Dan’s grilled cheese sandwich.

Where I come from, and apparently where ol’ Dan comes from, too, “that there is fighting words.” Or more accurately, fighting actions.

You just don’t take a bite out of a man’s grilled cheese sandwich … period.

So, Dan did what any red blooded American male would do. He went down to the basement where he kept an ample supply of weaponry, mainly 15 separate firearms, and proceeded to fire back up through the kitchen floor, where he last left his beloved wife.

Presumably, she still had a bite of grill cheese in her mouth when all this happened.

I shudder to think what might have happened if Dan had been eating a steak when his wife took a bite. He may have machine gunned the entire neighborhood.

His wife did what any rational person would do after their spouse proceeds to fire shots through the floor at them from a basement full of weapons. She went down to the basement to “confront him.” I guess she did not learn anything from his reaction to her taking a bite of his grilled cheese sandwich, but discovered him “surrounded by ammunition and arms.”

Note to self: If my spouse fires shots up through the floor at me and is surrounded by arms and ammunition, I will probably decide it is time to maybe, say, go visit my mother or something.

But his wife just went back up the stairs and went back into the kitchen, where jolly Dan fired off three more rounds. Maybe she went back up there to make Dan another grilled cheese sandwich. Who knows?

Dan topped off his tirade by barricading himself in the house and enjoying a three hour stand-off with the local SWAT team. As you might expect, meetings with the local SWAT team rarely end well for the guest of honor. I guess that is because the SWAT team usually arrives unannounced and uninvited.

Regardless, it now appears Dan may spend a little longer than three hours with the local jail staff where I can only hope — and pray — grilled cheese sandwiches are not on the menu or, if they are, Dan is allowed to eat them alone.

I don’t really think I would ever shoot someone over a grilled cheese sandwich. Now, a bowl of Blue Bell vanilla ice cream, maybe, but not a grilled cheese sandwich. I ate Blue Bell vanilla ice cream after they discovered Listeria in some of the cartons and told everyone to throw the ice cream away. I knew it would be off the market, so I tried to even buy some more to store up until they started back producing it.

So, I guess I might have actually shot someone over my dwindling supply of Blue Bell if the need arose. I suppose that is my version of “The Walking Dead,” where supplies of everything are limited and disappearing, so that death may come over, say, a roll of toilet paper.

For now, I’ll stick to my Blue Bell and everyone else keep your cold, might-be-dead hands off my ice cream.