pastsive agressive note

"It is sadder to find the past again and find it inadequate to the present than it is to have it elude you and remain forever a harmonious conception of memory."

-F. Scott Fitzgerald


Nathan, Frosted Mini Wheats is a delicious cereal. I remember it fondly when I first bought it. Inside its box contained many delicious grains of wheat bound into bite sized pieces with one side enveloped in sugary cherubic goodness. When I first opened the package and poured my precious contraband into my 'walls of jericho' bowl and took my first bite I was immediately transported to a blissful happier place filled with the intoxicating freedoms of juvenescence.

This morning I returned to my box and it was not quite the same. The wheat squares tasted of stale rotting corpses and the sugar I once loved merely gave the grain a sad glimmer of the state it once was. Oh how I lamented and deplored time's tenacity to turn beauty into homeliness and the pristine into corruption. Why couldn't it be like it once was? Why can't beauty be frozen in state so its tasty allure can be enjoyed only a week, months later?

I began to surmise a way to prevent this next time so that many future generations can enjoy the fruit of the past. And then an insightful conclusion expeditiously came to me like a moth to the flame burned by the fire.

Maybe you can close the effin box next time you jerk. Oh and buy us some milk or I will end you.

-Sher