Vanilla cereal, in the form of:
Fruit loops
Last time, Toucan Sam was on the run from a fruit-crazed pimp named Octavio Paz, who was also a literary critic (before he was (reportedly) killed in a duel, although truthfully he simply failed to show up) when he wasn’t a pimp, and who was (and still is to this day) searching ravenously for a balanced breakfast. Toucan Sam and a Chilean poet, who later forgets to mention that Toucan Sam ever existed, cross the deserts of Sonora together with Wasalu Muhammad Jaco, American rapper and record producer, the three of them also searching, desperately, not for a balanced breakfast, but for the ultimate fruity flavor. It’s somewhere out there, says Toucan Sam, gesturing impotently at the empty landscape, but no one believes him, not even himself. They believe in the act of searching, though, and in the act of dreaming even more than the act of believing, and so their search goes in circles for a long time. Eventually, all three of them forget to mention that the toucan ever existed, and then they forget the pimp and the poet, too. Will you succeed where Wasalu Muhammad Jaco and the others failed? You can help find the ultimate fruity flavor by going to Toucansam dot com. Ask your parents’ permission.
::)::
You’ve always been afraid of death. Please don’t kill me, you whisper prayerfully to the night, but you know it ignores you. Sometimes a strange longing takes you, and for a moment you believe you’re about to meet your end. “Aquí está,” you say out loud. “Los asesinos en cereales me llevan.”
One day, as the rising sun peeks through your huddled cardboard covers, you have an epiphany, or at least a thought. “Soy le defensore de les despoetices,” you proclaim convincingly. “Y nadie puede silenciarme. ¡Adelante, mi arma es mi voz!” You emerge from your dusty fortress into the dawnlit lands and set out ayonder with tongue in hand. You may be a little bland, but you certainly have an appetite.
You win when all threats to cereal have been eaten.