Here's something you might be interested in.
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Hook me up to Cap'n Crunch
One food every day for the rest of my life
I want to lacerate my gums.
Dear Hipster: If you had to eat one food every day for the rest of your life, what would it be? — Dan
Apparently I’m being forced, most likely at gunpoint or other annihilatory threat, to make such a wretched choice, so, eff it, as the polite kids say. Hook me up that Cap’n Crunch.
Yeah, sure, it’s tempting to pick something ludicrously expensive, like subsisting solely on beluga caviar, black truffles, or black-market foie gras as a means of secretly bankrupting the monster who forced me to select a single form of sustenance for the rest of my days. And yet, it would be a hollow pleasure; hence, the breakfast cereal.
I don’t care that it’s basically freeze-dried corn sugar, utterly bereft of nutritional value and extruded into whimsical shapes in a ruthless bid to win the hearts of children (and the pocketbooks of their parents). I don’t care that I will probably succumb to a fatal insulin coma after just a year or two of the all-cereal-all-the-time diet. I don’t care at all, because if some hypothetical despot is going to force me onto a monotypical boredom diet, I want to lacerate my gums with the razor-sharp edges of Cap’n Crunch. I don’t care whether or not Apple Jacks tasted like apples in the 1990s, I want to race just ahead of the impending sogginess, shoveling little, extruded, processed-food-product hoops, rings, pads, squares, and pillows into my mouth as fast as I can work a spoon.
If I’m going to suffer a forced diet, I’m going out with all the glee of a seven-year-old on Saturday morning with unlimited TV time, a whole box of Cocoa Puffs, and not a care in the world.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Hook me up to Cap'n Crunch
One food every day for the rest of my life
Hook me up to Cap'n Crunch
One food every day for the rest of my life
I want to lacerate my gums.
Dear Hipster: If you had to eat one food every day for the rest of your life, what would it be? — Dan
Apparently I’m being forced, most likely at gunpoint or other annihilatory threat, to make such a wretched choice, so, eff it, as the polite kids say. Hook me up that Cap’n Crunch.
Yeah, sure, it’s tempting to pick something ludicrously expensive, like subsisting solely on beluga caviar, black truffles, or black-market foie gras as a means of secretly bankrupting the monster who forced me to select a single form of sustenance for the rest of my days. And yet, it would be a hollow pleasure; hence, the breakfast cereal.
I don’t care that it’s basically freeze-dried corn sugar, utterly bereft of nutritional value and extruded into whimsical shapes in a ruthless bid to win the hearts of children (and the pocketbooks of their parents). I don’t care that I will probably succumb to a fatal insulin coma after just a year or two of the all-cereal-all-the-time diet. I don’t care at all, because if some hypothetical despot is going to force me onto a monotypical boredom diet, I want to lacerate my gums with the razor-sharp edges of Cap’n Crunch. I don’t care whether or not Apple Jacks tasted like apples in the 1990s, I want to race just ahead of the impending sogginess, shoveling little, extruded, processed-food-product hoops, rings, pads, squares, and pillows into my mouth as fast as I can work a spoon.
If I’m going to suffer a forced diet, I’m going out with all the glee of a seven-year-old on Saturday morning with unlimited TV time, a whole box of Cocoa Puffs, and not a care in the world.
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