I’m a man of routines. Once I hit upon a good way to do things, I stick with it. When I was on Atkins, it was no problem for me to consume 3 scrambled eggs, a spicy Thai chicken sausage, a banana, water and black coffee, every single morning. Every single goddamn morning. This practice worked out just fine, until my cholesterol started to blow up.
So I changed things up. Now it’s a bowl of Wheaties with some chopped dates, 1% organic milk, and the aforementioned banana, water and black coffee. It works, and I stick with it almost without fail.
But now there’s a problem. See, when you buy a box of Wheaties, you’re not just buying cereal; you’re buying The Breakfast of Champions. And sometimes General Mills’ idea of champion isn’t the same as mine.
After the Yankees got wrecked in the first round of the playoffs, Amy & I decided that we just couldn’t buy Wheaties with Alex “reigning AL MVP” Rodriguez on the box. It was too insulting, to see that grim demeanor and that looping swing, knowing that he’d been shown up on baseball’s biggest stage as a punk-ass bitch.
For a while, we were able to make do with leftover Shaq & Wade NBA championship boxes. When they ran out, we even started getting the smaller-sized box (Steve Nash), but my persistent case of cheap Jew stereotypism keeps me from buying the less economical size.
The situation is growing dire. The cereal aisle is filled with box upon box of home-run-swinging A-Rod, mocking us with his failure to deliver a timely hit in a big game. Will a new MVP never be crowned?
I fear that if I have to resort to that cereal, I will become like him. Perhaps I’ll write many pages of great editorial in the lesser issues of my magazine, but come October’s AAPS special, or come the July/August Top Companies issue, I’ll wilt.
The risk is too great. Maybe I can get by with BooBerry or the Cap’n.
Will there never be another Olympics?
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