Of the breakfast blues and petty pastry politics

Gahh. Monday. School doesn't start until tomorrow and I'm already feeling the sluggish, sloshing, sandy feeling of Monday. I have senior portraits today, what fun. Later, I think I'll take a history exam or two. Summer classes are a bitch, by the way.

What could possibly help me survive this god awful day? All of my cartoon pals on the television tell me to have a good breakfast every day to help me concentrate and perform better in school and aim better and shoot better and be more intimidating during interrogations. Sounds like something I can definitely dig. I've always wanted to learn how to fly; to think it's as simple as a bowl of Apple Jacks. Time for this sports fan to wrassle 'imself up some breakfast.

I've come to learn that when you're a smartass, simple things like breakfast suddenly become much more eventful. Allow me to demonstrate.

  • "Jeez, is anyone buying the REGULAR sized Frosted Shreded Wheat?"
  • "I don't even know what the word 'skim' is supposed to mean."
  • "Where do they find these kids to take the photos for these cereal boxes? Nobody his age spikes his hair, that's for damn sure."
  • "Mom, we're out of Sunny D and I need you to finish filling this pitcher with urine so that I can make more. I'll be right back with the toothpaste."
That not doing it for you? How about a nice old people rant?

There was a time in my family when a mother would get out the goddamn waffle iron and make waffles for her family instead of strutting around all day wearing jeans and being a whore. Thank GOD we have those damned Ego waffles now so that Mommy can push her bastard children out the door and get back to turning tricks on her front porch. I find it hard to eat breakfast in the morning; my mind says I'm hungry, but my stomach won't wake up. I've never been able to eat eggs at all without getting gas. That's not a problem anymore, considering my daughter in law happens to smell much worse than that. I think the government has Tony the Tiger locked up somewhere. When I was in the service, we had no tolerance for sugar cereal. It was either plain Cheerios, or you went hungry until one of your buddies got his foot blown off by a land mine. Goddammit woman, hurry up with my eggs over there! You goddamn Jew-whore!

Poor grandpa. Anyways, while I was gone, I scrounged around and finally found me some Toaster Strudel. Yippee. Now THAT'S a good breakfast. That is, if you're a professional gamer. As for us fans of physical activity every once in a few months, those things really mess with your stomach. I'm already regretting this decision.

Toaster Strudel kinda bothers me, though, and not just physically. I'm talking about the stupid advertising war they've decided to declare on poor ol' Pop Tarts. Ever notice this? They constantly compare themselves to Pop Tarts. Toaster Strudel and Pop Tarts are two separate entities in my book. They're not even in the same food group. Toaster Strudel are for a home breakfast in front of the computer; Pop Tarts are something you eat on a bus. And yet, those arrogant bastards over at Pillsbury have decided they want to take the low road and use smear tactics in their commercials.

What did Pop Tarts ever do to anyone? Ol' Grumpy Gramps was telling me about how when he was a kid, they had to walk for twelve miles a day, barefoot, for no reason. What do you think he brought as a snack? Toaster Strudel would have been too messy. Only Pop Tarts come in that nice little silvery pouch. If it weren't for Pop Tarts, I may not even be here today. Who does Pillsbury think they are?

I think I'll send them a letter with a picture of my grandpa, asking them to look him in the eye and tell him Pop Tarts are no good. We'll see if these guys have a heart or not. Until then, I'm going to finish my breakfast.



Sk8r said...

You're wierd. :P

orian57 said...

Yeah you big freak. though i only have half a clue what you're talking about. pop tarts i know but that other thing? must be american. not that it matters, personally i don't eat.