The Magic Stuff To Make All Things Better

I don't mean to open old wounds, but let's make a quick dash into the nostalgic sectors of our minds. Yes, pass through the thoughts of wetting the bed, and/or pants, and dart past the image of the boogie man. Alright, here we are. What you're looking at, in case you weren't sure, is a box of cereal. Now, this just isn't any ordinary box of cereal, for inside these cardboard confines is a treasure trove of small, delightful toys. Yes, my friends, the prize at the bottom of the box. I'll have to ask you to curb your enthusiasm for the time being (no matter how difficult it may be), and a focused, level-headed mind, think back to a Saturday morning. You wake up around 9:30 or so (remember, little kids had no worries to hide from by sleeping until noon), and scramble to the bathroom. You do that thing. You then travel from the bathroom to kitchen, and discover the newest box of cereal in the cabinet. Hell, who cares about the cereal?! You just want the flippin' prize! With fingers of fury, you tear the cheap cardboard and plastic bag to smithereens. With cereal strewn in every conceivable direction, you savagely dig through the small, delicious, sugar-coated whole-grain oat balls until the prize is yours. And there it is. There it sits, in a miserable heap of its own parts, covered in the dust of the cereal you raped the kitchen with. Needless to say, you might be a tad disappointed. Oh hell, who's kidding who, you've just been shot by a howizter from across the sink. God might as well strike you down with a bolt of holy lightning, for there is no use to life. But God shows no such mercy unto your poor and broken soul. He lets you live, staring with passion at the miserable wreck of cheapness that litters your kitchen floor. Mommy. There's the answer. Scrambling from room to room, screaming with a noise to cure the deaf, you search for mommy. She has the magic stuff to make all things better (we as adults call it super-glue). As you fumble around with the worthless pile of plastic, your mom gets the magical elixir of toys. The finished product. Alright, it's safe to say that your Spiderman doesn't look quite as menacing with a ginormous bulge of glue protruding from his face. Well, you take the bad with the good, I suppose. At least Spiderman can still move -- sort of. Ok, who the f*ck are you kidding. This worthless piece of Singapore crap isn't worth a fruity pebble.

That seems to be the general mindset of those bottom-of-the-box cereal toys. Bottom of the barrel would be the more appropriate phrase. Alright, flash to the next scenario. You wake up, again on a Saturday, with the taste of last week's defeat still ripe in your mouth. You go to the bathroom, do your thing, and travel to the cabinet. Rather than going spastic over the anticipation of a new piece of trash, you carefully examine the box. You notice the brand-new set of hot wheels being advertised on the front. Uh oh. Everyone in the world knows how much you love hot wheels. The fury begins. Again, mounds of cereal crowd the floor. They crunch beneath your feet. Hmm, you actually enjoy that sensation. But anyway, there's no prize to be found. You pick up the box, and notice the phrase below the ad "three proof of purchase required". Instantly you think, what the hell does O.J. have to do with this? Yet time passes, you've sent your proof to the corresponding address, and you spend each afternoon crammed into the mailbox. Following 6-8 weeks of extreme discomfort, the mailman finally arrives with an unusually small package. Slithering out of the mailbox, you immediately confront the postal worker. That can't be mine, mister, I ordered a set of brand new hot wheels! The mailman obviously doesn't hear your words, and he hands you the package regardless. You trot into the living room, and meticuloulsy open the package. Wonderful. Unless hot wheels now come with the "some assembly required" label, then something must be wrong. There has to be a reason why that wheel is sitting over there, and the hood to that car is just laying in the corner. There has to be a reason why these things JUST SUCK!

Unfortunately, there isn't. Again, sorry to open old wounds -- but take the bad with the good.