Big Crunch

Well anyway, that was how I ended up holding the bottle that held the liquid that ended life as we knew it at 5:45pm on a Sunday morning in the year of our lord 2005. Looking back I realize that waking up that day, getting out of bed, was my one fatal mistake. Really it was the breakfast, I needed Cap' n' Crunch to scour away my palette and found none. I guess it was the choice of grocery bots. Or the coupon, yes, that had quite a bit to do with our current stateless state.

Although the new brand, the next thing in crunch had tempted me with its seductive concept. I didn't fall until the price, the coupon, the hunger, the morning of the beginning of the month, all conspired to lend a hand. Actually, the crunch alone -- the new, improved, I finally fell for it, no milk needed, self-soggying, self-repairing, self-refilling, practically self-chewing Cap' n of tomorrow's bowl of love -- didn't really do it.

It was me, not reading, too early, just need me some of that new crunch, counter-indications be damned, gen-gineered milk buying, mixer of things best left unmixed, me.

Although, in hindsight, I think Microsoft, Genentech, Kelloggs, and Farmer Brown at the dairy, even the damn fool Cap' n himself could have thought a little harder about the costs and benefits of this new synergistic 2%.

I still think that if I could find my spoon, and mobilize my buddy list, we could overcome my runaway breakfast before it reaches the earth's crust. I only wish the self-repairing roof of my self-despairing mouth could keep up with my accelerated need for speed. But I'm no friend of Von Neumann Bucky-ball-viral-Cap' n' Crunch, and Microsoft-Genentech Skim. THE THING IS, THEY DON'T MIX. I only wish the warning label was a little bigger, or my bottle of self-fulfilling moo a little smaller, or the supply of carbon atoms in the solar system a little more unlimited, or a little less appealing to all those tin-pot despots of the spoon and bowl.