Fuck You, Leprechaun

July 24, 2008

As I walked into work this morning, I whistled under my breath the Lucky Charms couplet.  The tune was stuck in my head for no reason.  I haven’t seen a Lucky Charms commercial in decades, most likely.

It occurred to me that if I live to be 85, on my deathbed in the hospital, the conversation could go like this:

Doctor: Mr Rouse, I have your test results back, but before we discuss that, I’m curious about something.  How do Frosted Lucky Charms taste?

Me (raspy old man voice): They’re magically delicious.

Doctor: Ah yes, that’s right.  I’m afraid you have cancer.

As I’ve stated again and again, I can’t remember the name of my dogs, or where I just set down that thing that was on fire, but Frosted Lucky Charms, They’re Magically Delicious will never, ever, ever leave my brain.  It’s become an autonomic action, like breathing, that I couldn’t stop if I tried.  How much did General Mills pay to own that portion of my limited mental capability?  I don’t buy sugary children’s cereals, but at some point, I will probably get some for the cupcake (when the missus isn’t looking), and when the time comes to make the choice, I’m sure that Frosted Lucky Charms will be near the top of the list, thanks to their magical powers.

Fucking leprechaun.

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