I'm a man of many silent protests. Currently, I'm silently protesting the neighbors who harass me about my terrible parking, the California tax board, the Apple Care program, American Idol, pants in general, and, of course, the producers of Storage Wars, who so unceremoniously dumped Dave Hester, my favorite “reality” TV show personality of all time, because of the courage he showed in trying to clean up the dirty world of storage-facility-auction-based programming.

If you’re a fellow Storage Wars fan, you’re probably familiar with the story. But for those who hate drama, comedy, and the American dream, here’s a quick primer: Storage Wars has always required a leap of faith. You must believe that someone would squirrel away an entire unblemished, in-their-original-packaging set of Star Wars action figures in a locker otherwise filled with plastic patio furniture and soiled gardening gloves. Or that they would see it fit to put their grandfather’s antique clock collection next to 15 crates of nursing scrubs, Soul Asylum CDs, and diet books from the early ’90s. You must also believe that those same Soul Asylum CDs would fetch a “five dollar bill” and that the patio furniture, which has since turned green, amounts to a “15-dollar bill right there.”

KANG

I have a Storage Wars problem. I watch at least two a day. Sometimes, I watch five or six in a row. The show has aired 52 episodes, which, clearly, is not enough to feed the beast. There’s no clear explanation for this obsession — I’ve never had any interest in antiques, furniture, collectibles, or clutter. I’ve never rented a storage unit or been to an auction of any sort. So why can’t I stop watching a show that features a bunch of people wandering around storage yards in Southern California? Why do I it find necessary to re-watch the one where Darrell finds a mannequin phone? Or the one where Dave finds those weird Japanese gaming machines? Or the one where Barry finds that Munch-ian head sculpture? Why do I find myself Googling “What does Barry on Storage Wars really do for a living?” Why do I find myself planning road trips to the Newport Consignment Gallery?