The Cap’n Is Lost at Sea

Well, lock up your daughters, folks. They did it. They actually friggin’ did it. I’m not one to use my ~~massive~~ platform to spout about any current events besides perhaps the weather, but we are living in unprecedented times, can we all agree?

You know what I’m talking about. Most of you do, anyway, unless you’ve been locked into your Netflix account and watching an endless loop of Schitt’s Creek. So, allow me to say this out loud because I’m still in disbelief:

(Deep breath) Cap’n Crunch’s Ocean Blue Artificially Maple-Flavored Syrup. (Exhale. Brain Aneurysm.)

Your first question will be, is this real? After you are told that indeed, it is, sadly, very much real, your next question will be: how do I get myself off of this fucking planet?

There is no escape. There is no other planet in this universe that will host a demented species such as ours. Not after this malfeasance, no no no.

The company responsible for this Cronenberg is the Aunt Jemima Syrup Company. Over the past year, due to racial injustice, they announced last summer that they were going to change their name to something else in 2021. As of right now, no name change has been made, but they did remove the likeness of Aunt Jemima off of their packaging. Yeah, because that was the offensive thing about their product. Not the blue maple syrup.

Why blue? Because it’s a food color not found in nature? Don’t tell me blueberries, that shit be more purple than anything. Secondly, what in the good god damn is the Cap’n doing aboard this shitty vessel of a marketing campaign? He’s a cereal cap’n, through and through. You think he knows anything about batter-based breakfast foods? He’s completely out of his element here and boy does it show.

What’s next? Is Little Debbie going to be the new face of Fan Duel? How about the Gorton’s Fisherman sporting some sweatpants that say “Pink” across his ass? It’s all up for grabs now, folks.

…get it?

As if this Cap’n Catastrophe wasn’t frightening enough at first glance, if you think about it for more than a second, things get even worse. Maple syrup is naturally brown. If you approach a tree, hammer a nail into it, once the tree stops screaming and begs to see his family one last time, this brown stuff comes pouring out.

So, if this is maple syrup, what on god’s green earth did the Cap’n have to do to it to make it go from brown to blue? How do you do that? I lack the imagination and masochistic lust to hazard a guess.

Oh. It’s “artificially maple flavored.” That’s in the name of it. Did they even have a marketing team for this? I think they forgot to tweak the name after the mad scientist came out of the lab, a plume of green steam behind him, glasses broken, blood trickling out his ear.

The first two ingredients are: corn syrup and high fructose corn syrup. So basically, sugar and sugar-sugar. Next up, water, and then cellulose gum. Would you be a lamb and look up cellulose for me? They call it a “dietary fiber.” It’s wood pulp, folks.

Look, I’m not going to get into every ingredient here, I think we’re all fairly disgusted enough. But this is a tumorous cyst and it must be exorcised from our collective breakfast table, preferably with a spoon, unless you want your kid to take a bite and get such a sugar rush he passes out and smacks his head on the sticky table.

They tried this shit with the ketchup back in the early 2000s, remember? They had green and purple ketchup. The kids liked it, but outside of a Nickelodeon sitcom, kids do not rule the world. After the revolt, once the smoke cleared and people began rebuilding their lives, it was gone from our grocery shelves.

The only positive I can see coming out of this creation is something like “Type-4 Diabetes.” Sure, for people, diabetes is not fun, but think of all the new and exciting discoveries scientists can make from such a thing. It’ll be like a reverse super power. Make it happen, Cap’n.

Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child…?

This week, my friend Todd (nicknamed “Tater Todd”) lent me a book this week called, Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child. It was a thoughtful gesture on their part, as they assumed (correctly) that our son’s sleep schedule is getting better, but still slightly erratic.

Citing the book as a “lifesaver,” I picked up the book and…holy cow! This book is thick. Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. Before I even get started, let me turn to the last…657 pages? Are you fucking kidding me, Tater?? 657 pages?!

You want me (just my wife!) to read a 657-page book in order for our kid to sleep for a few hours? Are you daft? Who would buy this?

There’s a quote-review on the front cover: “I put these principles into practice—with instant results. Dr. Weissbluth is a trusted resource and adviser.” And the quote is from…Cindy Crawford??

Cindy Crawford. The same woman who says that her wrinkle-free skin is due to a facial cream that has an extract from a melon that doesn’t expire as quickly as other melons. I’ve been up at 3:00am, I’ve seen her infomercials. There’s a melon that stays fresher longer than most melons, so there’s this French doctor, Dr. Sebagh, who decided that human skin is the same as a melon husk and is now a millionaire.

That is not a joke. Here is an actual product description for her Youth Activating Melon Serum (italics added by me to show the fuck-all stupidity): “Super-charged serum harnesses the skin-restoring power of our next generation miracle melon technology. Melon leaf stem cells are encapsulated for maximum potency to visibly plump and firm skin, even tone and increase radiance.”

…

And this woman wants to tell me how to get my kid to sleep? Cindy Crawford’s record of “reputable doctors” leaves me a bit skeptical, what with the melon skin and all.

What is this book going to tell me? Squeeze a half-lemon into my kid’s face and he should be calm for a few hours? Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. Maybe I’m being ignorant. Let’s open a random page. Here we go, page 290: “Crying: All Babies Cry Some of the Time.”

Well, you just blew my fucking mind, Dr. Weissen-Shyster. The first 289 pages I’m sure were a real drag until you turned the page and come across that little turd of wisdom and it all became worth it.

(Deep sigh) Folks, I think we have a House of Leaves situation here. About 10 years ago, another friend of mine, John, read a book called House of Leaves and he wanted to share it with anyone who would listen. He described the plot to me as, “A story about a house that’s larger on the inside than the outside.”

And I thought, like, spiritually? Because of the family and stuff? But no, physically larger. Measurements from the inside don’t match the outside and the inside of the house gets bigger and bigger.

What ensued was the most mind-numbingly, frustrating book I had ever read. There was backwards text, footnotes whose explanations themselves went on for pages, spiral text, text that only went along vertically along the perimeter of the page…it was a mess.

But John kept spreading the book around like a mental STD until most of us were smacking our heads to get the thoughts out.

I didn’t think I’d come across another book like it until Tater Todd, using a crane I assume, dropped this book off on our front stoop.

Also, Todd, there’s now a large crack (chasm, really) on the front step from where this book was lowered. I’m gonna need you to fix that. I don’t want Grettle’s paw to get stuck in there.

My assumption here is one of irony. I don’t think Todd and his wife can get any sleep until they pawn this book off on some unsuspecting parents. They say the book was a life-saver, but I think our acceptance of the book is what saved them.

It’s the monkey’s paw of child-rearing! Come December, this book is on a first-class flight to New York for another couple who is expecting. Hey, Rob and Brianna. Read this book. It will save our lives if you do.

Ms. Amanda

Amanda, I hope this letter finds you well. When I came across your profile, so moved was I that I decided to forego my usual email that simply says, “Sup, girl?” In fact, I might even throw in some fancy-pants vocabulary words to impress you.

You ever been hit on by a guy who uses the word “indubitably”? Well, stick around, Amanda; today may be your lucky day!

Your photos show a lot of personality. I would have to say on my part, the last festival food I had was in the month of June when I had my first fried Oreo. You ever have a fried Oreo, Amanda? It’s a flavor I never experienced before, and as I felt a sharp, unforgiving pain radiate down my left arm as I took my last bite, I wondered, “Who is the culinary genius who came up with this?”

I also like the photos of you holding random children that aren’t yours. Don’t get me wrong, Amanda, I can and have lifted any number of my friends’ small children (I do pushups!), but there is a severe lack of photographic evidence in my circle of friends to corroborate my claim. And to be honest, I don’t hold them for too long, as I have a slight aversion to tears and urine.

I do apologize for a lack of questions to you on my part, but I wanted to show that this isn’t some form letter. I figured this format would be better than a bullet list of typical date questions like, “What do you do for a living,” or “How come you never see a homeless person drinking Gatorade?”

Oh, I do have a leading question for you though: which comedians are your favorites? I too enjoy stand-up comedy, although I don’t think I could ever stomach a cruise ship comedian who is always so close to bombing epically.

Thanks for reading, Amanda, and take care. Would I like to hear back from you? Indubitably!

Cordially,

Mike