Ever since I started stealing candy, saying “Yoink” has been the best part.

Sure there’s the act itself, which is a rush (even more than the succeeding sugar rush from eating the candy), but once I found this expression I found happiness.

When I started stealing candy (you know, the mini Snickers and Milky Ways) from my barber, I loved it. I’d go in, ask for a regular haircut, snatch a lollipop, and run away with only some of the haircut complete. Those stooges never knew what hit them.

But even as I advanced in my trade and promoted myself to regular size Twix and Reese’s, something was missing, something larger than the hole in my stomach caused by the massive amounts of candy I’ve ingested.

Then one day I saw my rival, Tick Jones, take Swedish Fish (his specialty) and he yelled “Hooray” as he did it. He seemed so happy. “Hooray” was his calling card ever since his wife took the kids.

That’s when I knew. I needed a catchphrase. I started saying “Wonderful times” but it didn’t click. It just made my court cases more confusing for the judge. “You’re a troubled man,” he’d say. And I’d say “What’s it to you Pickleface!” Then me and my lawyer would high five. We hate pickles.

So then I tried “Space funk” but that was too scientific and unoriginal. I’d walk up to a cashier, do a jig and say “Space funk” in my best impression of Barry White. Nothing. No reaction. Nobody noticed. “Are you going to buy anything today sir?” they’d ask. “What’s it to you, Pickleface?!” Then me and my lawyer would high five. He goes shopping with me too.

But then, one day in Waldbaums, I saw a father pretend to take his son’s nose and he said, “Yoink, I’ve got your nose.”

That’s when I knew I had it. Though not entirely original, I would make it my own. Like Shakespeare, the Beatles, and Christian Slater, I would improve on what already existed.

I moved past the father and son and, while placing my hand on the jumbo Kit Kat, exclaimed “Yoink.”

It was beyond cathartic — a sensation I’ve never felt before. My spine tingled. After realizing that the feeling was more from the taser then the catchphrase, I knew I had found eternal bliss.

Anyway Mom, I hope you’re doing well. This time they’re counting it as a felony because I had cocaine on me and my lawyer had a ton of heroin on him. I’m thinking about a new catchphrase, something that represents me at this stage in my life, like: “I’m 42!”