Count Chocula

I will say this once and once only: Count Chocula is quite possibly the best cereal ever.

Don’t even try to argue it. Whatever you say is wrong.

By adding chocolate and vaguely chocolate-flavored marshmallows together General Mills stumbled upon the formula to immortality, not to mention the cure for cancer and the way to end all wars ever. If you’re feeling even more dangerous you could perhaps scoop yourself some chocolate ice cream and sprinkle some Count Chocula on top to make what I lovingly call a “Choculadae” – not particularly original, I know.

And I wonder why I’m fat.

this motherfucker means business

This afternoon I received a package from my girlfriend. Contained in this package was a scarf (I know, I know, awwww) and a box of the cereal in question. After having several Polaroids taken with me and both objects, I hungrily opened the box and poured myself a bowl. It was delicious. Like a chocolatey-marshmallowey orgasm being shot down my throat, except not as explosive or sticky or as question-raising. I did however swallow, which I guess makes me a good girl.

The one unfortunate downside to my most recent encounter with Count Chocula is that over the years they’ve dumbed the ingredients down. Last time I had it, it was still made with sugar and not some 18-letter replacement designed to keep your heart pumping and your kidneys from failing after you eat three boxes of it. Back in the 80s and early 90s this shit was so delicious that it could easily be traded for weapons or drugs on the black market. If I had a time machine 1987 likely would be my first target if only to obtain a box of it and poke myself in the soft spot to see if I come out as fucked up 20 years later.

I’m so glad they’re thinking of my health. Really. I am.

Oh, and by the way, fuck Lucky Charms.