Cereal Killers Essay

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[pic] CEREAL KILLERS by Donna Voetee When my children were little, grocery shopping was a group effort. Jared, with his honey-brown ringlets, Jesse with his melt-your-heart smile, Todd with his munchkin red hair, and their older sister Tricia with her witty quips and giggles. Old ladies would smile and playfully threaten to take them home with them. Some days I would have consented, but for the most part, they were delightful children, well-behaved, mannerly. Until we got to “THAT” aisle. You moms know which one I’m talking about. The one that turns children into 8-armed octopi with lungs that can be heard from Produce to Bread, and wills strong enough to make Iron Man athletes jealous. The one that makes them think they have just miraculously stepped into the story board of their favorite morning cartoon show. The one with the “TOYS” directly on the other side. Yep, that’s the one. The “CEREAL” aisle. In fairness, I knew how the kids felt. After all, I myself had heard the siren call of Flakes and Puffs, Oh’s and Krispies with my old friends Tony the Tiger, Sam the Toucan, Sonny the Cuckoo Bird, Lucky the Leprechaun, the Cap’n, and those four-fingered elves who taught us that our cereal should talk to us. "Listen to the fairy song of health, the merry chorus sung by Kellogg's Rice Krispies as they merrily Snap, Crackle, and Pop in a bowl of milk. If you've never heard food talking, now is your chance." Hear your “food talking”? Step aside, boring, silent bacon & eggs, oatmeal and grits! The Anthropomorphic Breakfast had been created. Like a government agency, there was no turning back and it just kept growing and expanding without end. Colors foreign to the rainbow and creatures whose only existence was in the minds of ad men were now exploding on the shelves for a new generation. For young Goths, there was Boo Berry, Count Chocula,

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