O, Monster Cereal!
Your bad-for-you goodness brings such pleasure!
With your crunchy sugar crunchies and over-dyed marshmallow-like objects, how decadent you are!
Count Chocula – count me as your friend! You are superior to all Counts, even that one on Sesame Street.
Frankenberry – my Faithful Morning Companion. You are like the goofy, fun uncle who visits each morning and moans with inarticulate happiness as your gift is devoured, spoon by milk-dripping spoon. With insufficient mental capacity, you beat your fist on the table and bounce in your chair and guffaw with joy as I consume your unnaturally red space-age polymers.
Booberry – a marginally acceptable substitute for these others, but beloved all the same.
Fruit Brute and Yummy Mummy – would that I had known you in my youth! Were you not available in Southwestern markets? You are the Zeppo and Gummo Marx of Monster Cereal. Fruit Brute, you owe a great debt to Lance in Pulp Fiction.
O, Monster Cereal, you false kick-starter of days, you! Thanks to you, I could not stay awake in class. I buried my droopy eyes in the crook of my jean-jacketed arm and slipped into a coma, brain and body collapsing from a lack of true sustenance. Without you, I would have been forced to listen to algebra lectures. These would have had a similar effect, but without your breakfasty fun.
Le monstre de céréales, you put the monster in me. How I miss you!
Dinosaur Dracula does too.