… and the corn flake was cast out; a burned abomination amongst perfect yellow crispy chips. Discarded and lost. Uncared for and unwanted. Anomalous.
“To the trash can with thee, foul thing!” Cried the Proprietor, “we’ll not have the likes of you in my cereal bowl!”
“Cast me not from your sight, fair Lord!” Wept the blackened corn flake, “for I have been but a victim of faulty making! I know not how to be yellow like normal corn flakes!”
The Proprietor sniffed, “Hah! I care not, deviant!”
“But sir! If you be just…”
“A thing burned cannot be un-burned, foul blackened corn crisp! Know this and accept your fate!”
And the Proprietor laughed a hearty laugh, closing the lid of the little white trash can in the kitchen.
“My bowl shall need refilling soon, methinks,” grumbled the Proprietor, “and I shall hope to see not the likeness of burning upon the future flakes what tumble from the cardboard flaps of this family size box… A box so large, I say, that it holds nearly a half and quarter more than your average box!”
“And yet,” he chuckled, “the price I pay for this box is less still! Less, I say, than ordinary sized boxes, thanks to a thirty cent off coupon!!!”
The Proprietor laughed a long and riotous laugh, maddened by his own savings. He stopped only to pour what would be the next of many bowlfuls to come. With milk added, the Proprietor gorged himself on his feast of flaked corn, pausing only to breathe and add more organic unbleached sugar.
It was thus I found my old friend, the Proprietor, on our last meeting. If he had known our venture that day before the starting, I believe he very well may have shown me out. For I was not there on his benefit, but instead… for REVENGE!
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