Stop the Count

  

How can we not? The man’s gotten fabulously rich on the mouths of American schoolchildren, laying claim to everyone’s inner sweet tooth. Then why are we so surprised that things have taken a turn for the worse? He is who he told us he was – Nosferatu, vampyr, demon of the night. Or, in this case, the one, the only, the Count Chocula. 

Chocula has been promoted as a wholesome creature, a lovable entity, humorous and harmless, skulking into kitchens as someone more interested in your pantry than your vital essence. But do we know that for a fact? And how do we know that’s definitely milk in his cereal bowl? The answer, supernaturally, is that we don’t.  

Look, I slept through most of Dental school, but I know a set of vampire choppers when I see them. And I don’t require the assistance of a hygienist or a fresh set of X-rays to make that determination. The man’s bloodlust is palpable, obvious even though the thickest of Transylvanian brogues. What keeps his canines sharp? Here’s a hint: it ain’t corn flakes.  

 

We make excuses, saying, “he’s one of the good ones.” But is he? Is he really? We’re warned not to get on his bad side – this is not someone who takes kindly to meal skipping. As long as you serve him breakfast, everything should be fine. Does anyone outside the bubble that is his immense black forest actually believe that? 

Cereal was always a cover for more sinister behavior. I’ve heard of breakfast for dinner, but bowl after bowl, all day, every day, it’s simply maddening. Only Jerry Seinfeld, at his network television apex,  consumed more cereal than Chocula. But Seinfeld was playing a part, a role for our amusement, kibitzing over minutia and giving the polity a masterclass in narcissism. So who then is Chocula catering to? Cavity-riddled goblins? It doesn’t make any sense. This is a vampire, without any terrestrial attachments, lurking in the shadows, preying on young impressionable minds to gain societal acceptance. He’s crying out in pain and we laugh it off. Those are mere advertising jingles. Nothing to hear here. He wants to eat your cereal, sure, but that’s all? 

Too bad we can’t turn the other cheek any longer. Because he might just bite it one of these days.