Cereal Killer

by

What kind of man awakes from a sound sleep at 4:30 a.m. and, in a state not so far from sleepwalking, goes straight to his kitchen to wolf down a heaping bowl of Apple Jacks and then goes directly back to sleep seconds after sipping the flavored milk from bottom of the bowl?

Well, this kind, I guess.

Before you judge me, however, bear in mind we all have our demons to face. For some folks, it’s drugs or alcohol. Others are addicted to sex or money or power. Still others, it’s obsessive collecting of things, whatever they may be. Action figures, for example (sorry, Gorm, but you must realize that an intervention is inevitable at this point).

For me, and this is not an easy thing to admit, it’s cold cereal. And it’s bad. Real bad.

I always have at between four and twelve full boxes of cereal in the Compound’s various larders (there are three kitchens in the place). The only reason I was eating Apple Jacks, in this case, is because I was running low on some of my other favorites. Earlier in the week, I had polished off an entire box of Frosted Flakes in two post-midnight sittings. I guess I’m going through an old school phase where you’re more likely to find stuff like that, or Honey Nut Cheerios or Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Here at the bunker we just call those HNC and CTC respectively. When that phase passes, I’ll be back to Crunch Berries and Cookie Crisp and Reece’s. When Halloween rolls around, I load up on Boo-Berry, the easy favorite for the honor of Favorite Ken Socrates Cereal Of All Time.

All of the above must, and I repeat must, be served with milk that it about a half a degree above freezing. If I have to break a little ice on the top of the jug before I pour it into a wide heap of Cocoa Pebbles, then I’m a happy man.

You thinks it’s odd? Well, wait a second. The other slightly unusual thing about this dependency is that I absolutley never consume these items in the morning, like most folks do. The only time I eat it is in the middle of the night, after midnight, often in the wee hours, sometimes, as I described, on some sort of frightening, ravenous autopilot. It’s a wonder I haven’t just torn into a box or two with my teeth and eaten the whole thing, cardboard and all.

So, yeah. I need help.

Don’t we all?

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4 Responses to “Cereal Killer”

  1. Emily Says:

    Dude, Cinnamon Toast Cruch tastes like ass. No, I’m not going to tell you how I know what ass tastes like.

  2. Joe Hawaii & Gaylord "Ra" Fondue Says:

    Please?

  3. Ken Socrates Says:

    It’s not that simple, Joe. Some taste like chicken, for example. Some taste like rancid, festering hell made flesh. Plus you can get it in the mild, regular and hot versions, just like Paul Newman’s Salsa.

  4. Emily Says:

    The personal hygiene habits of the individual owner of the ass in question also come into play.

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