In A World In Which Raisin Bran Is A Sexual Position, And Not A Cereal


 In A World in Which Raisin Bran is a Sexual Position,
and not a Cereal

            In a world in which Raisin Bran is a sexual position and not cereal, she almost never leaves him and the recent Oscar winner for Best Picture was The Ghost and the Darkness, even though it’s currently 2014 and the Michael Douglas and Val Kilmer vs. Jungle Lions movie was released in 1996.  Also in the Raisin Bran alternate universe they don’t call them Oscars, they call them Charlies. And things like death, involuntary loneliness and Catherine Zeta Jones do not exist.
            But he doesn’t live in the world of Sexy Raisin Bran. He lives in this world.
            In this world she no longer loves him, as he’s subjected to new Superman movies in which Russell Crow, portraying the Man Of Steel’s father, adds his own consciousness to their brand new baby’s escape pod but not his wife’s and then has the balls to say “I wish your mother could have been here to see this.” when he’s eventually reunited with his son 33 years later; causing a dark cinema colored moon to scream “Dude, if you had wanted her to be here she could have easily been here, for you’re the bold prick who chose not to include her! You could’ve easily uploaded the consciousnesses of the both of you, but you didn’t.”
            “Because this world is selfish. And maybe you were concerned she had not seemed fully committed to taking off all that recent baby weight. And being shaped like Russell Crow you were only thinking of yourself.”
            Fuck this world! The world of Raisin Bran is different!
            In the world in which Raisin Bran is a sexual position bees sting backwards and Robert Downey Jr. invented salad dressing instead of Paul Newman.
            Marine life exists in the sky and if your lover performs a Golden Gram when you’re together you’re going to immediately after want to make sure you take a bath.
            In this world (fuck, this world) half the people spend their long nights freezing toward death while the other half jerk off into their extra pile of blankets. Corporations like Crest grow bored with everyone else’ mouths and expand into the production of Feminine Hygiene Products and produce slogans like “Crest. It’s not just toothpaste anymore.” 
            It’s horrible. Over here she never loved him and empathy is harder to contract than the clap.               
            Over there, in a world in which Raisin Bran is a sexual position, performing the Captain Crunch on your partner may get you arrested south of Europe but the jails are ridiculously swanky and if you’ve got someplace else to be you just let the jailer know and they’ll totally let you out.            
            If only this world were more like that.
            In this world her love for him sneaks like a World War II double agent, causing him to nick his own scrotum against the corner of her frigid swastika as she tans her damned toenails in another man’s bunker; with her mouth stuffed full of bacon cupcakes, unpaid credit cards, and a piss stained copy of Mein Kamf.
            In this world, on this fuck-damned post-migraine anal’d Earth, his face sweats in its sleep causing him to wake several times throughout the evening with the pillow wet as if it’s been fooling around on him behind his back with a sloppy water park. He’s always hated water parks, but having to wake up like this to deal with this shit, he really-really hates water parks now. Like he hates this world, where professional photographers have become obsolete because the only thing anyone’s interested in anymore is taking Selfie’s. This world in which his broken heart creaks by un-noticed because he’s surrounded by people with mall shaped egos screaming the title of their own brand new national anthems over and over again.           
            “Look At Me!’ “Look At Me!” “Look At Me!”           
             “Well, fuck this world!” he screams back at things, between figuring there’s got a be a way in which he can transport himself out of this world and into the other; the thought leading him to the grocery store and through the breakfast cereal aisle and back home again.
            Time catching up with him as he stands here now in the middle of the kitchen with a packed suitcase beside his feet, praying like bloody hell that his damned plan will work. The cereal box already open. He pulls his dick out. Sticks it in amongst the two scoops of raisins and all those bran flakes.             
             With only the kitchen sink around to hear him whisper “Get me out of here, goddamn it. This has to work.”
              His eyes go: blink.

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