| Sam The Egg |
06-10-2004 10:44 PM |
the mutilation of eggs that is commonly referred to as "egg salad" is really nothing more than an oppression of the noble egg, a story only slightly less sad than the plight of the Cornflake. The plight of the cornflake is an old and ancient tale. It seems there was a cornflake, and his name was Paul. Now, Paul wasn’t the biggest cornflake in the box, and he wasn’t the nicest or tastiest, but Paul had ambition, and that’s something the other cornflakes couldn’t claim to have. I mean, really, how many ambitious cornflakes do you know? Have you ever poured a bowl of cornflakes and even stopped to think to yourself “What is this flake’s purpose of being, and am I destroying it by eating it?”
Stop and think about that one before you eat breakfast tomorrow. I personally don’t have time to eat it in the morning, so I’ve never really stopped to consider the moral plight of the cornflake, and besides which I’m partial to Cheerios so I wouldn’t be confronted with that PARTICULAR moral dilemma as such anyway.
But I digress.
Anyway, Paul the cornflake saw an opportunity for a spot at the top of the box, if only he could bypass the other cornflakes and somehow make his way up there. He saw all the other, more well-connected cornflakes partying it up near the crease at the top, and he wondered every morning what he was missing.
Each day he would awake (insomuch as a cornflake knows the difference between sleeping and waking in the first place) and plot a new strategy for rising to the top of the box, and each day he would fall asleep again (insomuch as a cornflake…well, you get the idea) not having figured it out.
But Paul didn’t give up! In addition to ambition, he had stubbornness as well, and each day that passed he noticed that more and more of the cornflakes above him were disappearing, usually in the morning. In fact, after a few days he noticed that he was getting near to the top himself, without having to do much of anything at all!
Well, as you can imagine, this was quite an exciting revelation for our little cornflake friend.
Finally, the blessed day came when that last bit of leftover cornflakes was poured out of the box, and Paul found himself all alone in the box, king of the heap. But Paul now had two bigger problems: Loneliness, and garbage.
For you see, the cornflake eaters in question didn’t take the time to fish Paul out of the bottom of the box of cornflakes, and simply tossed the supposedly-empty box of cornflakes into the garbage and forgot about it.
Paul sat in the darkness for a good many days, as the garbage was taken out and recycled at a local facility near the premises, and Paul was shaken out of the box by the process and he was left sitting in a pile of wax paper and rotten bananas.
Indeed, an existance, if you can call it that, that I wouldn’t personally wish on anyone, friend or enemy.
But Paul perservered, even as the moisture seeped into him and he lost all his cripsy texture and flavor, until one day he was a soggy cornflake sitting on the bottom of a garbage pile. I think a bird ate him, I’m not sure.
They don’t have cornflake obituaries, after all. But I think the world may be a better place if we did. Think of the cornflakes!
Paul died, and went towards the bright light he saw, as his cornflake soul rose to cornflake heaven, and he met the cornflake St. Peter.
“Paul”, he said, showering him with beautiful light and whole cream, “your time on this world is not yet over. You still have many breakfasts to enrich with a full day’s supply of Vitamin B and Niacin, and you still have many boxes to climb until you are the top flake.”
“But St. Peter,” Paul replied in shock, “Look at my mangled form! Whereas before I was a lovely cornflake and crispy and whole, now I’m just a soggy shell of my former self!”
“Ah, my cornflake friend,” St. Peter said calmly, “matters such as these are easily solved.” And with a wave of his hand, Paul the cornflake was reborn as a glorious Grape Nut.
“Thank you, St. Peter!” the newly nutted Paul exclaimed, “How can I ever thank you?”
“Just be the best breakfast you can be.” St. Peter replied, and with another wave Paul the Grape Nut was back on earth.
The first thing he noticed was that he was back in a box again, and was back on the bottom again. He looked up, and couldn’t help but think that the other Grape Nuts on top of the box were having a much better time of it than he was.
So Paul the Grape Nut, formerly Paul the cornflake, once again began plotting his ascent to the top of the box, and much of the same stuff happened over and over again to him in the years and decades that followed.
When does this story of woe end?
It doesn’t…it’s just a cereal.
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