Frosted Flakes are a Bitch.

Frosted Flakes are a bitch.

Yeah, last time it was Pop Tarts nowit’s Frosted Flakes. Told you I have trouble with SIMPLE things. And it doesn’t—or shouldn’t—come much simpler than cereal boxes. I remember when I was a little kid cereal boxes were fun. There’s not only the colorful characters and cool little doo-dads, but there’s all that SUGAR. Yum.

But when you’re a little kid someone else opens the box. Or more accurately the pouch inside the box. And that pouch? It ain’t so grrrrrrrrrrreat.

Pull gently, we’re told. Yeah, right, that works. Maybe before they started frickin’ super-gluing the pouches shut. It’s a war zone inside those boxes, I’m telling you. Pull, yank, jerk, use your teeth…the pouch wins. Because you know what happens? The seal doesn’t break, the side does and suddenly it’s a conflagration of Frosty Flakes. My niece thinks that little battle is incredibly funny. I fail to see they humor in it.

Get the scissors, someone says? Oh, don’t even go there. Do you know how much damage I can do with those??? I mean, really, sharp objects don’t belong anywhere near me.

And Count Chocula is no better so don’t think that little brown deviant is getting off the hook. I’m pretty sure the conspiracy stretches across all the yummy-tasting cereals. Fiber One? Oh, yeah, THOSE you can get into. Bran Flakes? No problem. Quaker Oats? Yep, the creepy Quaker guy’s got it goin’ on.

But Tony the Tiger…HE’S an open invitation to grinding cereal bits into the carpet and fishing them out of your boxers for three days. He’s evil, I’m pretty sure. Really evil.

So join with me. Assert your rights. Demand easy-open bags. Petition that striped degenerate. Send threatening letters to Count Chocula. Tell Lucky his luck is about to run out if he doesn’t get his charms in order. And Captain Crunch…welllllll, don’t even ask me about THAT little weirdo. Make breakfast fun again.

Thank you and good crunch…