I'm writing this rant from...well, dammit, I'm not sure where I am. The last thing I remember is that Morton Slaf-Kabnecier and I hit the water like a ton of bricks and then everything went black. Nothing ever goes white under these circumstances.
As a matter of fact, everything is still black. It's blacker than lost-in-the-woods-on-a-cloudy-night black. It's blacker than hide-and-seek-in-the-closet-after-everyone-else-has-gone-home black. It's even blacker than driving-your-1986-Mazda-with-no-lights-in-a-coal mine-during-a-power-outage black.
And when I say really black, I mean not exactly absolute black, because there are these strange little wisps of grey -- kind of mould-you-get-on-your-toast-when-it's-been-sitting-under-your-used-sock-pile-for-two-weeks grey. And the strange thing about these wisps is that they have flavors.
I'll have to back up for a minute (sound of shifting gears).
I've been walking along this smooth black endless slab of something that feels like crunchy granola under my feet. (Which explains the milk in my socks.) The sky is not really a sky at all, but a sheet of black peach fuzz stretching up and out at an incredible angle. And yet it all seems to be one piece. It's a matched set of black weirdness. It's like walking through a very creepy breakfast cereal.
Don’t get me started on breakfast cereal.
One can hardly imagine a more sinister truth than an unknown truth. Mainly because, well, you don't know about it. But the very fact that it is unknown begs the possibility that someone out there knows about it and you don't. This is, regrettably, the case with breakfast cereal.
Now, Aardvark Al enjoys a nice bowl of Spoon-sized Shredded Wheat from time to time just like anybody. Oh, all right. I eat it every day. It is, after all completely devoid of sugar, fat, pesticides, boll weevils, and ginnyhoofers. And no catcalls and comments like "Boy, are you boring!" will deter me from my appointed cereal rounds. But recently, certain sounds coming from the bowl have given rise to suspicion.
What sounds, you say? Well, cackling sounds. Not quite cackling, perhaps. More like the whole-grain bran version of "heh, heh, heh, heh." Often, another fruity voice, sometimes an octave higher in pitch, like the scream of a strawberry going down for the third time.
After much investigation and a general survey of the entire world, I’ve uncovered certain documents revealing that there is a sinister underground global conspiracy among breakfast cereals of all kinds to wreak havoc among the legions of fruit that are plucked unsuspecting from trees and bushes and thrown bodily into bowls of milk, later to be nearly suffocated by vicious gangs of wheat flakes or corn pops and their milky henchmen.
This despite the fact that the same survey of the world reveals that only 10 percent of the strawberry population knows how to swim! Don't even talk to me about kiwis, which are down around the lowest percentile in swimitude.
And what about the fact that cereals are routinely marketed to children -- children who are too young to know what evil they are doing, or perhaps too distracted to hear the screams of the blueberries they are spooning on their Weetabix?
The number of children lured into this multigrained conspiracy are legion – in fact, a "rapidly exploding" population of them. If you've never seen a rapidly exploding population, let me tell you, you don't want to. It can be messy.
What can we do about it? The truth is, there's nothing you can do about it. It's a sinister global conspiracy, dummy, which by definition is unseen, unknown, unbowled, and especially unmilked. Oh, sure. You could go down to your local neighborhood Masonic Temple or Bavarian Illuminati enclave and knock on the door and complain. But they'd just laugh in your face. They're everywhere. I mean, just sneak into the kitchen of your average US Senator or Congressman, and what do you find? The shelves are all chock full of cereal boxes! I mean, these people are even linked up with those shadowy gas station owners who go around looking at other gas station signs, so the next morning you wake up and all the gas prices are exactly the same. Overnight!
I mean, they're everywhere, man!
Of course, I in no way mean to imply that the alleged conspiracy against breakfast fruit has anything to do with the United Cereal Growers Corporation of America, or their heirs or dependents, or any employee of the US Government, or any agency thereof, or anybody else with a large rowfing pack of drooling lawyers, whether with fur coated with phosphorescent paint so they can be seen in the dark, or even roaming undead across the back roads and alleys of....
What was the question again?