Slightly morbid mid-day-cereal-binge-blogging. Proceed with caution.
I’ve spent far too little time thinking about the kind of heinous crime I would have to commit in order to earn a last meal, and far too much time thinking about what that meal would be. I think I’ve come to a decision. It would be this. It would be every available flavor of Cheerios. Probably in a bathtub full of milk. With me in it.
Nothing drives home how much America has changed since I left it a dozen years ago more than this profusion of unfamiliar flavours of my favourite childhood cereal. Nothing.
