For whatever reason, I enjoy eating soggy cereal.
I learned about stress management from my kids. Every night after work, I drink some chocolate milk, eat sugary cereal straight from the box, then run around the house in my underwear screaming like a monkey.
My sister just had a baby. We can have company over. She'll be in front of everyone with her um... breast... out feeding it. You know... cereal or whatever.
Writing a new film about cereal killers. Not serial killers, cereal killers. The main character can eat two, three boxes at a time.
I can't cook. I can barely make a bowl of cereal.
As a professional athlete, there aren't too many things as gratifying as being on the front of a box. Whether it be a cereal box or a game box. It's very gratifying.
Cereal when high is always a great option. I don't even have cereal for that reason.
Deprived of their newspapers or a novel, reading-addicts will fall back onto cookery books, on the literature which is wrapped around bottles of patent medicine, on those instructions for keeping the contents crisp which are printed on the outside of boxes of breakfast cereals. On anything.
Weren't we all crazy in our sleep? What was sleep, after all, but the process by which we dumped our insanity into a dark subconscious pit and came out on the other side ready to eat cereal instead of our neighbor's children?
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