EggoWaffles: Why I’m Now In Jail

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I had an odd moment this morning. I was at work, just coming off of my mid-morning nap and wanting a quick snack before I took my ten o’clock smoke-break. When I wandered into the lunch room and opened the fridge door, I noticed some Eggo Waffles in there. I was about to steal one (because if it’s in the damn fridge then it’s fair game and you all know it, so quit sending me passive-aggressive e-mails) but I stopped myself because I remembered the slogan: “Leggo my Eggo”. There must be some kind of a Jedi mind-trick-thing going on here because I left the waffles alone for the morning and wandered back to my desk to stare at the clock for a while (just as I is stated in my job description I assume).

But I couldn’t get the waffles out of my mind for the rest of the day, and the distraction totally ruined my afternoon Minesweeper marathon. I grew up in the eighties and breakfast food commercials were all the rage on Saturday mornings. You’d watch some overly conservative cartoons, eat cereal with warm water because you were out of milk and the magic TV box would show you some bullshit about what breakfast is supposed to be like (apparently it looks suspiciously similar to your brain on drugs). A commercial like that should have faded to background noise in my memory — along with everything I learned prior to sixth grade considering how much model glue I’ve been huffing lately — but the Eggo slogan has survived in there alive and well to this very day.

I think the reason it stands out so much is that it’s the only slogan of its ilk that relies completely on generating conflict. Most other products have a lighter sales pitch by comparison. Currently, the Cheerios people are trying to guilt-trip you into eating their cereal by reminding you that it will reduce the chances of your children watching your heart pop like an infected pimple because they know you’re pumping more Mountain Dew through your veins than blood at this point. Raisin Brain seems to want to just stick to the facts with their “Two Scoops” campaign, so that’s pretty nice. It’s short, to the point and goes out of its way to pretend you give a shit about the raisins which is naive but you have to appreciate the effort. Tony the Tiger just says, “They’re great!” so I’m guessing his scarf has started to cut off the circulation to his head and that’s the only thought left his brain can form what with the oxygen starvation – but at least he’s not acting like a dick.

Kelloggs could have gone with any number of tactics to push their toaster-ruining-butter-delivery-systems, but they chose to reach out to the hyper-aggressive pricks in all of us. Doesn’t it seem like “Leggo my Eggo” is a shortened version of what originally continued with, “… or I will fucking cut you.” There’s definitely the hint of some ambiguous threat in there, like they’re just waiting for someone to step up and start some shit. And you know what? It’s clearly worked because here it is, twenty years later and I’m still thinking about it, which is exactly what every advertising executive’s wet dream is. I don’t know whether the marketing team that came up with it deserves a handshake for successfully figuring out how to manipulate a bunch of sugar-high adolescents into fighting over what basically amounts to stale toast, or if they should be punched in nuts for turning us into a generation of greedy waffle-hoarding chest-pounders. Whatever the case, I’d love to see their cutting room floor. Here are my predictions:

  • Pop Tarts: They’re two to a package and if you touch either one of them, I’ll punch you as hard as I can directly in the asshole.
  • Granola Bars: I truly and sincerely hope with all of my heart that you choke on it, you self-centered jack off.
  • Aunt Jemima Pancakes: There are eight in every box. Now go fuck yourself.

The more I dwell on this the more I feel there’s something malicious at the heart of it. Prepackaged breakfast foods are supposed to be fun and light-hearted. Why did the Eggo people have to go and try to piss me off? I was perfectly fine, going about my life in my happy little bubble when suddenly I’m being challenged to a pit-fight over some toast-able shit-wafers. The next thing I know, I’m wrapping a brick into a towel and I’ve got grease paint under my eyes (because for some reason, that seems to help).

The whole thing is making me paranoid. With everything else I’ve got going on in my life, now I have to worry about waffle thieves? Is this a problem in other areas of the country or something? Maybe it’s one of those unexpected results of Obamacare I’m always hearing about. Whatever the case, I’m pretty sure no one’s trying to steal my food; yet Kelloggs has me growling like an underfed pit bull every time someone wanders within smelling distance of my breakfast and it’s greatly decreasing my chances of getting a promotion anytime soon.

It’s sad to think about how I used to be relatively safe to be around. I’m normally pretty calm unless disturbed during one of my clearly scheduled workday nap-times. But the Eggo slogan isn’t just a warning about marauding bandits seeking out freshly frozen morning-time confections. No, there’s a challenge in there. They’re looking for trouble and I’m only human. Once that gauntlet has been thrown down, my lizard-brain takes over and I start seeing feeling the need to exert my dominance. It’s the law of the jungle and the alpha-male is going to get to eat what he wants or die trying. This is what the aggressive Eggo marketing campaign has pushed us to as a society: a perfectly reasonable man being driven to punching a secretary in the throat just to steal her freshly popped Eggo waffles.

The weird thing is I don’t even like Eggo waffles. I think they taste like they could give you hepatitis C. You can’t even get butter to spread evenly on them. It just ends up melting into the little pockets and creating this soggy little swimming pool that you have to lap up like a thirsty dog. At this point, you might as well just melt of stick of butter in a cup and drink it because it’s a whole lot easier to get the same affect. Why would I risk my freedom as an American citizen and the rights and privileges intrinsic therein for a half-burned, dried-out biscuit that – let’s face it – is mostly air? These are the thoughts that run through my head as I lock myself in the bathroom trying to cram as many waffles into my mouth as possible before the police come to drag me off to yet another arraignment hearing.

I’ll admit, maybe this is more of a personal problem regarding my unhealthy relationship with food than a broader social issue; at least that’s what the district attorney keeps telling me. But it doesn’t excuse the Eggo marketing team for turning to the dark side in order to up the sales on their tasteless food-discs. I haven’t been this angry since my ill-fated attempt to eat just one Lays potato chip ended up in an armed standoff with federal law enforcement.

The point here is that this is America, and we’re kind of prone to violence at the best of times. It seems irresponsible to push our angry-buttons just to sell some prepackaged ass-cakes. We’re all trying to hold it together long enough to get through another nerve-grating day in the cube-farm while the invisible hand of the market keeps trying to bitch-slap us into throwing punches over snack-food. I think responsibility for any altercations should rest totally on Kellogg’s shoulders and all I need is one juror to agree with me on this.

You know what? I’ve got a good feeling about this trial.

 

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Game of Thrones Actor is Aquaman

So, Aquaman is going to be in the Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice movie, and he’ll be played by Jason Momoa (known to Game of Thrones fans as Khal Drogo).

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It may surprise readers to know that Aquaman is a character near and dear to my heart, and I think this is good news.

Aquaman has always been a victim of bad press, though this is part of his charm. There are thousands of jokes about how lame Aquaman is, and there may even be a song or two out there about it.

But, for us fans of Aquaman, this only makes him more relatable. After all, how many of us would like to be taken more seriously? But hell, Aquaman just doesn’t care. He’s not like say, Submariner, who is so insecure that he needs to wear tiny speedos and throws hissy fits resulting in his invading New York once a month.

No, Aquaman just smiles at the jokes and realizes one simple fact: He is the King of The Seven seas. That pretty much makes him the most powerful political leader on the planet.

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Also he has a hot wife named Mera who looks kind of like Daenerys Stormborn. Only with redhair.

If he is lame, what does that make you?
By making Jason Momoa Aquaman, he becomes someone the naysayers would like to make fun of, but, even if you put the orange and green costume on him, he still looks better than you do in your cosplay Predator costume.

And, if you’re really nice to him, maybe he’ll give you a golden crown.

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On Becoming a Vampire – Humble advice from BillieX

So it’s Friday morning and of course I’m thinking of vampires. Specifically, vampires are awesome and I really wish they were real. And I’m not talking in a metaphorical “Lawyers are bloodsucking vampires” kind of way, but more of a substantial “Ask your doctor if being a vampire is right for you” sort of real.

I know I can’t be the only one who feels this way. In fact, I’ve been to a goth-club before (something about fishnet gloves on a rail-thin corpse-bride just gets me going) so I know that there’s a very large, though socially awkward portion of American culture that agrees with me: vampires are awesome and I want to be one.

Now, a few words on the bad rep that vampires get in the media: it’s all a load of shit. You go back far enough, and some old-fart types in the Middle Ages decided vampires were horrible monsters that prey on innocent humans and there’s probably some crap about being Godless and evil and blah blah blah. This mindset took hold all the way until the 20th century when Anne Rice wrote some novels that finally accepted the fact that we really want to fuck them. But even then, there’s this elegiac quality to the whole thing, like being a flesh-and-blood human is somehow better than sleeping all day and going out to have ultra-hot, moonlit, undead sex all night. I think it has something to do with them not having a soul or some half-baked religious bullshit like that. But I’m not really using my soul for anything, so what’s the big deal?

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Here’s the thing: if it’s fun and cool, then chances are some puritanical buzz-kill is going to try to make you feel bad about it. They called rock-and-roll the devil’s music; they said comic books were going to rot our brains; they said that television would destroy the family unit; and they said that porn would turn us into a bunch of masturbating sub-humans. Aside from that last one, they were wrong on every point.

Maybe it’s got to do with the fact that vampires hunt humans for food. Well, I’ve met a few humans in my life and I have to say I’m not impressed, so let’s just give them a pass on that one.

This sad-eyed, ultra-depressed “poor me, I’m a monster who has to live in the shadows” whining shit you see in the movies has got to be just bad press. Sure there are some drawbacks, but they don’t seem so bad when you really think about them. If you shove a stake through a vampire’s heart, they die, but then again so would anything else. There’s this thing about vampires not being able to enter your home without being invited in but that’s also true for anyone who’s not a career criminal. They can’t touch garlic, but there are tons of available and very reasonably priced spices that you can still use so I think it’s the kind of thing you can learn to live with. And I’ve heard something about not being able to cross running water but I don’t even know what the fuck that means so we’ll just pass it over.

Never seeing the sun again might suck a little bit but I’ve always thought the sun was kind of over-rated (ohhhhh, I’m a class three yellow-star and I think I’m so special ‘cause I’m all shiny.Whatever).

Now consider all the benefits you get from being a vampire. There’s the obvious stuff: super strength, super speed, shape shifting and a weird new relationship with curtains and open windows – straight-up superhero shit. Then there’s the really cool stuff: good looks for life, credibility when buying a black Mercedes and wearing a black trench coat without having to be a private detective. You never see one get the flu either. There seems to be some money involved too – ever seen one shopping at Dollar General? Oh, and let’s not forget the whole never dying thing. If you can keep your ass away from holy-water, sunlight and wooden stakes then you can do just about anything else you want. Sign me up.

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What part about this doesn’t sound awesome? Why the hell wouldn’t people be standing in line for this stuff? How come in movies and TV shows it’s always some kind of horrible transgression when a vampire “turns” someone? It sounds to me like it’s the world’s biggest favor: “Hey, wanna never get sick again? Want a credible reason to quit your nine-to-five? Want good looks for life and the ability to get laid in an unending procession of gothy, one-night-stand, freaky fuck-fests?”

How’s about yes? How’s about right now?

But no, they’re not real. Black holes are real, but vampires are just a work of fiction and people like me don’t get to be one. It’s total bullshit. They can make pills that will give you a boner so hard you’ll wind up in the emergency room (for some reason) but they can’t make you into a vampire. So it goes: the closest thing to vampires we get in this world is Dick Cheney and I really don’t want him to touch me.

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