Everybody loves Snoopy, the little beagle with the big imagination. But you know what everyone doesn’t love? Medical bills, physical pain, and psychological trauma.

And that’s exactly what you’d get if Snoopy were to bite you.

I feel that I should emphasize that Snoopy has never bitten me and I have no reason to believe that he ever will, especially given the fact that he is a fictional character. But if his teeth were to even graze my skin, oh boy, would I enthusiastically advocate for his immediate euthanasia. I’d use social media, fliers, and I’d even cold call strangers to spread the word that everyone’s favorite adorable little beagle is actually a hellhound loyal to only Lucifer himself.

Call me whatever you like. A bad person. A monster. Someone who acts like a villain in a Disney film.

No doubt a lot of trolls out there will interpret this as me pushing what they call my “anti-Snoopy agenda,” but that is a ridiculous assertion. I actually am a very big fan of Snoopy (even though his mischief seems to be fueled by a desire to incite chaos rather than create jolly merriment).

But in my heart, I know that if I was walking down the street, went to pet him, and was greeted with a chomp on my hand, I would immediately pursue legal action, despite what Charlie Brown, Linus, or that filthy peasant boy might say.

Has he even had all of his shots mandated by law? I've never seen any evidence.

The fact that I have been advocating for Snoopy to be tried for the war crimes he committed in his numerous battles with the Red Baron over the last 52 years has nothing to do with my penchant for fantasizing about having an excuse to legally murder the creature; they are two separate matters entirely. But while we are on the subject, I do believe that it is time we finally hold this canine accountable for the way he used his doghouse to open fire on troops without receiving any approval from higher-ranking officials. I do not believe in giving him a free pass just because he’s “cute,” or “funny,” or “fictional.”

Furthermore, Snoopy’s popularity eclipsing the fame of my cartoon dog, Gloopy, similarly has nothing to do with my unwavering position that if Snoopy were to bite me, I would do everything in my power to ensure the courts allow me to terminate his existence.

And if I may add, Gloopy is not only different from Snoopy, but also vastly superior. First off, Gloopy is a bulldog, and he doesn’t take guff from anyone. He wears a tie—I know what you’re thinking; why does he need a tie? He’s a dog and doesn’t have to go to work! Well, the tie is there for a very specific, very subtle reason: it’s silly and shows how quirky Gloopy is.

And for the thought police out there who claim that Gloopy is just a cheap rip-off of Snoopy, guess again—Gloopy is 100% original with 100% novel traits. For instance, he loves lasagna but hates Mondays.

And even though I do not have to explain myself to anybody, before anyone says that I’m only entertaining daydreams of Snoopy’s demise because my father was killed when he walked out into traffic, distracted by reading a Peanuts cartoon, let me just say that that is COMPLETELY false. Is that how my father, the man who raised me and gave me everything, passed away? Sure, but there’s no correlation; it is purely coincidental.

Before writing me off as some vengeful psycho, consider that this little dog thought it was funny to lick Lucy’s face without her consent when she was trying to organize the actors in the Christmas play. This kind of behavior isn’t endearing; it’s sick.

Snoopy is nearly 70 years old, it is time we start treating him like a fully-grown adult instead of making excuses for him

Call me whatever you like. A bad person. A monster. Someone who acts like a villain in a Disney film. A pornographer of violence. A dimwit. A jackass. A blowhard. An irrational human being incapable of listening to reason with a dangerous willingness to entertain delusions. But when Snoopy bites you, we’ll see how quick you are to disagree with me.