Lately my Cheerios have been speaking to me. In the past it had always been the Rice Krispies, but their comments were forever the same; “Snap†(that little girl’s skinny neck) “Krackle†(her skin over an open flame) “Pop†(her eyes out with your thumbs) and so I went along, and that was…I don’t know…fine, satisfying, for awhile I guess; repetitive yet somehow satisfying. But now the Cheerios are having their say.
When they first started speaking it was just little small talk advice; clean your room, wash behind your ears, what’s the correct response to White’s Knight to F-3 on the third move of the Queen’s Gambit opening, whether or not to go long or sell short on my latest commodities move, disemboweling the neighbor’s cat would be more fun with a dessert spoon than with a sharp knife, if you don’t cut the root of an onion while peeling it, it won’t cause you to tear…you know…just little things. And just like with the Rice Krispies, they spoke, I listened, took their advice and life went very smoothly. Basically we were all happy campers, you know? However now the Cheerios are becoming more insistent, more persistent, much more demanding.
I can’t reveal the full extent of what they are saying. If I did, I’m afraid that something really terrible would happen. They have assured me of this. All I dare to say is that, besides their commands that I commit ghoulish acts of uncontrolled violence on a regular basis, I believe they now want to breed, and it seems they have entered into a conspiracy to do just that. I know it has to be a conspiracy, because everyone I meet greets me with their mantra; “Cherrios mate…Cherrios mateâ€Â. But what if they do? I fear they are mutating.
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