Tag Archives: lucky charms

Silly Rabbit

I have some really surprising news.  I’m not really sure how to properly convey this scenario to you, so I’ll just put it out there.  But first I have to ask.  Do you remember that commercial from long ago?  There were these two children keeping a poor desperate rabbit from eating their precious bowls of cereal.  All the while these nasty children would be taunting the rabbit with hurtful words, “Silly Rabbit, Trix are for kids!”  Mean little selfish brats.

I picked up a box of Trix the other day.  There was no rabbit in sight, although I probably would have given the pathetic little hare a handful of those colorful little cereal puffs just to make him go away.  I’m far more generous than those evil little punks.  I was actually pretty excited about my box of Trix because I haven’t had this particular junky cereal in a long time.

I love cereal.  If you’ve been hanging around this blog, you should have already known that.  Review Cereal Circles and/or Cereal Killers.  I recommend the “and” rather than the “or”.  I’m a 42 year old man, husband, father of two boys, and I can’t help the fact that the garbage cereals still taste delicious to me.  We currently have our pantry stocked with Reese’s Puffs, Lucky Charms, Coco-Puffs, Froot Loops, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and Trix.  And that list is the list of opened boxes.

Here is the really surprising part.  I poured a bowl of Trix—still no rabbit in sight.  Filled my bowl with the proper amount of milk.  Got my spoon and dug in.

They taste like crap!  The fact this cereal is made up of round little balls exactly the same size as rabbit turds makes me think that maybe the rabbit was up to something devious—if you know what I mean.  Can you picture him working with his finger paints.  “I’ll make this one red.  This one green.  Ha!  Watch those kids try to keep this bowl from me!”

Actually, I guess that isn’t really fair.  They don’t exactly taste like crap.  More accurately, Trix taste like nothing.  As in no taste at all.  Is this because I’m getting close to an age where junky cereals are going to become unappealing?  I hope not.  I’m still coo-coo for Coco-Puffs.  I think Lucky Charms are magically delicious.  I still think Frosted Flakes taste great.  I’m mean really great, like with ten or so letter R’s.  But what happened to Trix?  They taste like little puffs of colored Styrofoam.  And it doesn’t matter what color of puff ball I try.  They all taste like nothing.  Red.  Nothing.  Orange.  Nothing.  Even the “all new” swirled colored puffs.  Nothing.

Someone stole my flavor!  Now I’m starting to think that maybe those mean-spirited kids were on to something.  Silly Marcus, Trix are for kids.  Do kids still think that this particular cereal is good?  I doubt it.

Hey silly rabbit, swing by my house and you can have the whole tasteless box of this bland garbage cereal all to yourself.  Is this really what you were scrambling for all these years?  It’s all yours.  I’ll even feed you the whole box right in front of those horrible, stingy little kids.  I’ll even force them to watch.

Buy my flavorful book.

Real Downer

Someone asked me the other day if I could recall a time of overwhelming sadness in my life.  At first, this type of question seemed like a total downer.  But looking ahead in the conversation, I can see where this topic was heading.  It was suppose to be the kind of a question that will have you thinking about your current state of mind and ultimately have you counting your blessings.

I played along and joined in on the conversation.  It was great.

Buy my books!

Wait a minute.  It just dawned on me that you might want to hear about a great sadness in my life.

That’s kind of morbid.  Don’t you think?  So if you are still reading, you should ask yourself a different question.  Why am I intrigued by other people’s sadness?  Or maybe—What is wrong with my head?

Alright freaks (all those that trudged forward after my above written ridicule), the following is a moment in time when I found myself overwhelmed with a great sadness.

The other evening I was getting myself a bowl of cereal.  I believe it was Lucky Charms.  I was hungry and looking for a quick snack before bedtime.  I filled the bowl with just the right amount of cereal, retrieved a spoon from the silverware drawer, and opened the refrigerator.  I was disappointed to see that the amount of milk remaining in the jug was probably not going to fill the bowl to an adequate level.  Although disappointed, I was armed with the knowledge that there were additional jugs of milk in our second refrigerator located in the basement.

I journeyed to the basement to retrieve the next gallon of milk, carried it up the stairs, and removed the little plastic safety seal.  That safety seal was put in place for my protection.  It warms my heart to think that there are people out there who care about me that have never even met me.  Thanks safety seal placement people!

I placed the new jug of milk off to the side and returned to the nearly empty jug of milk.  I popped the lid and began to pour.  And that is when it happened.  The amount of milk that was remaining in the jug turned out to be the exact amount required by my standards of cereal to milk ratios.  The bowl stood there in front of me, shining like the perfection that it was.  The second jug of milk was not necessary whatsoever!

I suppose the irony should have put a smile on my face—Lucky Charms, the perfect amount of milk.  Nope, not then.  The irony was lost with my new found sense of depression.

I didn’t need to go to the basement for milk at all!  There was plenty right there in front of me.  I wasted my precious time and energy traveling all the way to the basement and back for nothing.  I retrieved a gallon of milk from the basement, and for what?  Nothing.  Useless.  I could have use what was readily available to me, waited until the morning, and had one of my boys do the dirty work of tromping downstairs and back.  I could have been enjoying this late night snack a full minute earlier.  An entire minute!  The wasted time was cutting into my sleep time.  Now I’ll be waking up just a bit more tired than I should be.  A tear slid down my check and hit the countertop right next to my bowl.  I put the new milk jug back in the…

…sorry.  I have to stop here.  I had some jokes lined up to close this entry, but I’m just too depressed re-living this tragic event.

Buy my books (if you even feel like it anymore).

Cereal Killers

I grew up eating cereal. My mom did what she could to provide real meals, but truth be told, I liked the simplicity of a bowl of cereal and still do to this day. As a kid I can remember gazing at all those sugar filled cereals all lined up on a self in a low cupboard that I could reach all by myself. We always had about three or four boxes opened at a time. Never would a box go stale. Now, as an adult, not much has changed. However, my family currently has about ten boxes open at a time, and yet still, none will go bad. We buy six gallons of milk at a time to feed our unwavering desire for yummy cereals. We get the “how many children do you have?” question at the check-out line almost every single time. My response is, “Two. But they’re really thirsty.”

My wife will report that during her childhood they were only permitted to have two boxes open at a time. The next box shall be opened only upon completion of one of the two previous boxes. Seems like child abuse to me. Furthermore, the two boxes were typically Cheerios and Kix. Wasn’t Kix the “kid tested, mother approved” cereal? I’ll bet the “kid testing” program didn’t have Lucky Charms or Count Chocula as the other test cases. I think those taste trials were unfairly stacked—probably something like Kix, Wheat Germ Flakes, and Barley Thorns. Which one would you choose, kiddies?

As an adult, the toy surprise at the bottom of the box no longer generates any happiness. Unless you have an only-child, this little gift only produces large battles. One toy, multiple children equals a bad scenario. But as a kid, it was like digging for gold–your short little arm plowing though a mile of Cap’n Crunch in order to grasp that little nugget of goodness. Half the box would end up on the floor and you’d be itching the cereal powder clinging to your arm for hours. My Grandma would dump the entire box into a large bowl, retrieve the prize for us, and then carefully replace the cereal back into the bag. I guess she didn’t want us mixing the snot and dirt that was often all over our arms into the cereal that we would be eating. Yummy.

For the record, Kashi cereals are not cereals. I understand that many people enjoy that kind of thing, but it is not cereal. Cereal requires the sweet taste of sugar and/or a cartoon drawing on the front of the box. It’s wrong to sell your Kashi crap and Grape-Nuts garbage in the same section as your Froot Loops and Fruity Pebbles. Find a different isle for your so-called cereal.

As a lifelong eater of cereals, I consider myself an expert in the ways of preparing a bowl of cereal. Here, I offer you a couple of tips to consider when pouring your next bowl of cereal.

Know which cereals float. Don’t make the mistake of over-filling a bowl of Lucky Charms and then attempting to pour the milk. The cereal will float up and you will end up falling short of the required cereal to milk ratio. This mistake will cost you valuable time returning to the refrigerator in order to add additional milk to your half eaten bowl of cereal. During this gross delay, your cereal will sustain unnecessary sogginess. Disappointment will ensue. Furthermore, it is an obvious mistake to hold down the cereal with one hand while pouring the milk inbetween your finger and thumb in order to fill the bowl. Upon lifting your hand, only disaster can follow.

Avoid pouring milk from a high distance.  This rule is especially important when consuming a flake-based cereal. It is hard to generate a more disappointing sensation than watching the stream of milk hit a Frosted Flake and then be vectored off two feet outside of the bowl (often spraying over the edge of the countertop or table). When pouring milk into a non-ball shaped cereal, create a pit near the edge of the bowl with your finger, remove your finger, and cautiously pour the milk into this safe zone.

I love cereals with marshmallows. However, I do understand that cereal manufactures have taken a huge liberty when calling those little balls of sugar marshmallows. Lucky Charms is still delicious and always will be. Don’t read me wrong. But marshmallows, they are not. Try and stick those purple horseshoes, red balloons, blue moons, and orange and white shooting stars on a stick at a campfire to make s’mores. Not the same, is it?

It wasn’t too long ago that my wife pointed out that Lucky Charms is nothing more than Cheerios with little balls of sugar. I’m still coming to grips with this rude awakening. It still hurts. I’ll be alright, but I think I need to be alone for awhile.

buy my book!