The bane of society
Lucky Charms just a tool for ex-Ijazis to ruin our country
Suddenly it all makes sense. The
universe is in balance. All our prob
lems will soon be solved.
Oh sure, Ethiopians will still be
eating tasty meals of roaches and ter
mites, and we can’t guarantee that the
French - or Frogs, as we call them -
will become any more tolerable, but
our domestic problems will be solved.
We have been massively consum
ing a product so sinister that it’s tear
ing our country apart, and only one
thing can stop the hurting.
We need to take Lucky Charms off
the market.
We’ve been vaguely aware of an
evil aura surrounding giant corpora
tions since we were very young, but
we had never known wh^ until recent*
ly. We can only thank our lucky stars
(not the marshmallow kind) that our
moms made us eat healthy, positive
cereals like King Vitaman, instead of a
brand fronted by a sociopathic, mali
cipus, little leprechaun.
We’re always on the lookout for
suspicious products, but the colorful
marshmallows lulled us into a docile
naivete. However, something was trig
gered one afternoon when Mr. Bums
tried to get Hans Moleman’s “Lucky
Charms,” which was actually his
brain; we realized we’d been
brainwashed. ^
The tagline “Lucky
Charms: They’re magically
delicious” should be removed. It’s
untrue and misleading and should be
replaced by “The Breakfast of Nazi
Champions.”
Think about it: Lucky Charms
were introduced onto the market
at the same time that ex-Nazis
would be accepting positions in
the upper echelon of General
i Mills, having gotten there by way of
South America and Kansas.
As Americans, we don’t learn
much about the day-to-day procedures
of Nazi Germany ; all we ever hear
about is military operations and the
Holocaust. But would Germany have
been so successful without the civilian
sector? How did Nazi leaders make
their forces so eager? We suspect it
was the sweet, sweet marshmallows
and bright, colorful shapes.
Of course, they had to be furtive
about it for the American
market; yellow Stars of
David and pink triangles
would be too obvious, so \
they changed them to j
yellow stars and rain
bows, and added other
fun shapes to encourage
violence against their
enemies. For example,
the green clovers repre
sent the Irish.
Americans always
wonder why vio
lence in this
country is on
the rise.
Some blame
the NRA, oth
ers point
fingers at
homosexu
als or a liber
al
Hollywood.
Frankly, it’s
Delan Lonowski/DN
none of those or
any of the
other
usual (
sus- Jr
pects.
It is kids eating the honored
symbols of other groups for
breakfast - it’s disrespectful
and lets us know that these
groups are unimportant. For
many Americans it would be
similar to having Christ Puffs
- “Now with crucifix marsh
mallows!” That’s a little blatant,
but it is certainly offensive and doesn’t
inspire much respect for the cross.
The Nazis are
a smart bunch,
in one or two
* j respects, and
they knew that
the cereal indus
try would not
provide enough of a
grip on the throat of
America to take over,
so they expanded into
other businesses.
Pokemon is
one of their most
successful ven
tures, and it
teaches then
values to v
k
thousands
of chil
dren. It’s
* . basically
a game
that
iequucb
one to train a
“master race” of mon
sters, and it’s impossi
ble to overlook the
infamous “Swastika
Monster.”
We also suspect that the
Backstreet Boys and ‘N Sync are a
Nazi plot to ruin our culture and incite
violence between various segments
of society, although
we have no con
crete proof.
But Pokemon
and boy bands are just
fads that will pass as quickly
as they have appeared. These
are the least of our worries.
Lucky Charms is a popular cereal
and has been for quite some time. We
can’t expect the kids to be inundated
with this type of garbage and ignore
me underlying messages.
The more controTof the food
industry that we give ex-Nazis, the
more trouble we’re in, and the more
our society will decay. Only we can
stop the madness, either through boy
cotting the product or convincing
General Mills to halt production.
Restricting the world’s sole break
fast choice to a thick, Oliver, Pink
Floyd’s “The Wall”-esque, anti-sub
liminal hate gruel would be a good
solution. However, doing that would
probably lower us to the dirty Nazi
level that we despise so much. And
that’s the last thing that we’d like to see
happen.
We feel that the most logical solu
tion would not involve halting the pro
duction of the cereal at all. Instead, an
inconspicuous, yet lethal amount of
cyanide would be secretly injected into
every sixth box of Lucky Charms.
Before long, word would spread and
people would finally start to learn.
“Oh, great! I already had to fill out
that damned long-form census. Now
this.” The sound of loud thuds around
breakfast tables in kitchens across
America would signify that the coun
try was finally starting to learn how to
stand up for itself. ,
We realize that a substantial
amount of damage already has been
done by the Nazi Party and their distri
bution of this “Magically Delicious”
and fictitiously nutritious cereal. We
were lucky enough to be spared from
its wrath, but we’re well aware that
there are thousands of unsuspecting
individuals who weren’t.
For now, there’s nothing that any
one can do that will be a quick fix to
this problem. As we mentioned, we
will be working bn our “cyanide solu
tion,” but that may take years. So, until
then, all that you really can do to pro
tect yourself is to throw away your box
of Lucky Charms and stand up for
your beliefs and heritage. If you don’t,
who can tell how far the madness will
go?
Because when we’re eating
American flags for breakfast and the
Nazi Party is beginning to strengthen,
your precious little red hearts and yel
low moons aren’t going to seem so
lucky after all.
Chris Gustafson is a sophomore agricultural economics major, and Lucas Stock is a freshman English major. They are Daily Nebraskan columnists.
The circle of light
Reflections on an unbroken friendship
The chanting dropped to a low
murmur, then silence. Glittering eyes
in the darkness fell on me, holding in
my hands a single, thick wine-red can
dle, fresh and unbumed. The chant’s
syllables were still foreign to me -1
could only grasp and understand the
odd syllable or two - but I knew from
my studies what point in the rites we
had reached.
The men and women around me,
each with burning candles of their
own, rose from their positions and
formed a circle around me. Staring
into die bright flickering flames, my
eyes grew unable to see the figures of
those around me, with the exception
of a few pairs of glasses. One figure
from the ring stepped forward. He
kneeled before me. It was Carl, the
one who introduced me first to the cir
cle.
He spoke in an artificial language
the circle had developed for secret
communication, but I knew from my
preparations what he would be saying
and what to say in response.
Then he spoke, his low, clear voice
the first distinct sound since die begin
• ning of the evening. “Take this flame,
and keep it with you always. Let it
bum bright and clear and illuminate
the shadows in this demon-haunted
world.”
He leaned forward and brought his
candle to my own, lighting it. I
watched as my flame began faintly,
then brighter and fuller, until finally it
burned as brightly as the rest. Jason
rose and stepped back into the circle. I
rose and spoke, facing Carl.
“I shall.”
That was seven years ago.
Nominally, I was Catholic,
although my parents were in a period
of liberal interpretation of Catholic
dogma and weren’t too stringent aboul
making me go to church. My initiatior
into the circle, too, was little more that
nominal, the unification of the circle
being a principle that tended to lead us
apart: independent thought.
When my parents learned of my
initiation, they were surprised but not
alarmed. They smiled wisely, in that
way that parents always do, and said it
was a phase I would pass out of.
I’m still waiting.
***
“Hurry up, slowpokes!” I yelled
down the mountainside at a few strag
glers as they managed their way up the
loose rocks. It was a spectacular sum
mer day to be hiking, the sky a purest
blue, the sun shining down and burn
ing the whole world in vibrant greens,
tans and pinks.
I stood atop a large boulder that
jutted out over the valley and took a
long swig of water, now warm from
the long hike. It felt good to be stand
ing on my own two feet, those two feet
bringing me into contact with the
enormity of the boulder, mountain and
earth beneath me. I had climbed up as
quickly as possible to have this one
moment to myself, alone with the
world, as if I were the only human in
existence. I could hear the stragglers’
panting as they approached the top.
i “Hey Jake, give me a hand!” Carl
l shouted from over the comer. A few
steps over and I was there - he had
taken a more challenging route to die
top and now found himself without an
adequate hand-hold
“You’re a cocky idiot, Carl,” I said,
laughing as I grabbed his forearm. He
laughed and pushed himself up with a
final surge of strength.
. “You know it Gives me my
charm!” he said, dusting himself off,
laughing.
I turned from him and walked
again to die edge of the boulder. A
brief moment of vertigo passed like a
stray cloud in the sky. “It’s absolutely
beautiful, Carl,” I called over my
shoulder.
“Sure is, bud.” He walked up
behind me. The others finally reached
the top and were chatting to them
selves. “And think, we got here all on
our own; on our own legs, our own
arms. There is no more self-affirming
thing than climbing a mountain.”
“Like life itself” I said quiedy.
Carl laughed “No way to avoi4
reality when you’re climbing on loose
stones, huh, Jake? Only the facts.”
“Only the facts,” I repeated in the
circle’s own language.
The group behind us overheard
this, laughed and said it together, also
in the artificial language. “Only the
facts!”
***
“Only the facts,” Carl said quietly
to himself for a moment He toyed
with a dirty fork on his empty plate.
The rest of us watched. 'Hie faces
in the circle were different from when
I first joined, years ago, but the circle
was the same. Since the circle’s incep
tion, people had left, seeking new
dreams in new cities, people had
joined, seeking a new way of life. And
now, Carl was going away.
A few people wiped away tears. I
was dumbfounded to hear the news. I
chuckled quietly. “Let us know when
you decide to go public,” I said.
He laughed. “You guys will be the
first to know.” We sat quietly.
“Well, life is for the living,” I said
brightly. “Congratulations, good luck,
may the force be with you.” I patted
Carl on the back. He grabbed my hand
gently.
“Thanks, Jake.” ,
“But now there remains the ques
tion of the check,” I said, motioning at
it, unclaimed and sitting in the middle
of the table. “Who wants the honors?”
Nicole grabbed the check, smiling.
“I’ll do the math,” she said, taking out
a pen and dividing the check and the
tip among us.
While she bent over the calcula
tions, the circle made idle chatter over
what to do next in the evening. “Are
you ready?” I asked Carl quietly.
He smiled. “Ready to live?” he
chuckled. “Always.”
/
Jacob Glazeski is a senior music and math major and a Daily Nebraskan columnist.
