Monday, July 18, 2005

The first criterion I apply to breakfast cereal is price–anything more than $2.00 a carton is unconscionable in my book–and coming in a close second is, I’m ashamed to admit, the prize buried in the box. This part of my selection process should’ve stopped more than a decade ago, but it’s a habit impossible to shake.

I recently bought some Kellogg’s Smacks on the promise of a free Disney “Wobbler,” which turned out to be plastic rubbish in the form of a gigantic Tylenol capsule, only with a Disney luminary stamped on it in place of a dosage count. Put the Wobbler on your desk, give it a push, and watch it rock back and forth after multiple beatings, so went the appeal. 50 characters were mine to collect, proclaimed Kellogg in bold letters on the box, and I eagerly ripped into the package to discover–kiss the girl!–Ursula from The Little Mermaid.

I was all like, “Sha-la-la-la-la-holy shit that’s a lot of woman and octopus to love-la-la.” Can you think of a viler way to start the morning? I suppose if obese anthropomorphic seafood is your thing, well, perhaps we can trade Wobblers or something. But for now, I’m pleased to say I approached the problem with a despot’s confidence and a consultant’s ingenuity. Ursula is basically the sole outlet for all my aggression. Stub my toe? I’m gonna hum a little song called “Under the Sea BACK OF MY HAND.” Mental block? I have this ditty entitled “Part of Your World BACK OF MY HAND.”

Ho ho! You’ve got the nerve to bounce back, dear? KA-POW! What ever will you tell the girls at the Evil Convention tomorrow? Oh, I know. BAM! Tell them you swam into the dock, you disgusting purple octoslut. Again.