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You should remember me as the author of the shocking annals of The
Froot Loop Assassins. This is the tale of the events that followed
the publication of said story. A few days after it came out, strange
things starting happening across the country. Boxes of pre-sweetened
breakfast foods started disappearing from the shelves in supermarket
chains all over. A week after it all started; it just as suddenly stopped. Things were quiet. Too quiet. On November first, a month after my story hit print, three thousand club wielding Cheerios overran grand central station in New York City. There were only three survivors. The stories they told of the incredible atrocities committed by those demon-O’s made Dan Rather shake his head in disgust. Peter Jennings broke down into tears on air. I prepared for war. Three days and six hundred dollars later, I looked into the mirror and tied my red bandana. By this time, the rioting had spread throughout the country. The White House had fallen, followed closely by Disney World (over three hundred kids had been killed, and Mickey has been hanging from the top of the MGM water tower ever since). The Alamo was the last to go. The Cereal Army Battalion no. 4, “the lucky losers” were marching on Hollywood. Lucky Charms were running amok in Biloxi. Breakfast foods had come to life and taken over! Armed to my cavity-holed teeth and accompanied by my faithful dog Princess, I planned my offensive. Padding softly down the street on Chuck Taylored feet, I had my first run in with the enemy. A half-dozen Wild Cherry Pop Tarts with sharpened #2 pencils came charging out of a 7-11, screaming their little crumbs off. A pencil buzzed by my ear just as I dispatched a wicked pastry. I stomped two more and was then distracted by a yelp from behind. I spun around, catching the last three barbarian tarts with my bat. There lay Princess, pencil in her nose, dead from lead poisoning. I snapped. I started walking strait towards New York City, leaving a path of milk and crumbs (not to mention destruction). Nothing could stop my deranged mission of vengeance. I had become a machine, able only to destroy. No sugarcoated, mass-marketed, cardboard-packaged imitation food product could stand up to my wrath. Ahead of me lie my vengeance, my goal. Behind me lay the wreckage caused by hundreds of thousands of Hell-spawned, demon-loving, evil snacks. I had mastered a new art, the art of demolishing these anarchists from Acme. Nothing could stop me, not their toaster strudel mercenaries, not their Raisin Bran Rambos. I was the Gods’ avenger. I was undefeatable. I was Supreme. Well, I was pretty pissed, at least. The final day had come. I was ready, and so were they. I charged strait for grand central station, lobbing milk filled waterbaloons at their positions, letting loose with my super soaker, and stomping, STOMPING the little hate-filled horror mongers. I rearranged the station and plunged into its depths, obliterating as I went. I entered a dimly lit room. There was a throne, lit by crimson lights. A round figure sat in this chair. He looked up, his face streaked with black war paint. An M&M! A freaking giant candy! So the breakfast foods weren't alone. “You have destroyed me, human. And so you must perish.” He said with a wave of his hand. I found myself surrounded by foot-tall dog bones with pointy sticks. The silence was broken by a bark. We all spun, and there stood Princess! “Of course," I thought" how could she die of lead poisoning from a graphite pencil?” She lunged, and within thirty seconds, the bones were torn apart. The M&M screamed and lunged. I found myself pinned on the ground, his steely grip choking the life from me. In a flash of inspiration, I raised my head, and took a huge bite. “Mmmm.chocolaty goodness” I mumbled The chocolate M screamed and ran, right into a wall. In a half-second I was on him, pounding him with my bat, chocolate goo flying everywhere. I wiped my hands off and walked outside, wondering how chocolate had gotten into my underpants. |
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