Lucky charms have marshmallow bits?
Kid in front of me in mass was eating ’em.
Explains a few things about my sister. I always wondered why she was in such a hurry to get to ’em. Being that they taste like Purina Horse Chow (they really do, and don’t ask why I know) I wondered why so many of my friends were stuck on ’em. Now I know- they were packed full of sugar and sis always got the good stuff.
Sheesh.
Lucky Charms are actually healthier for you now than they used to be. I remember doing the math way back when and they consisted of 58% sugar. Yessirree, over half. No wonder I liked them.
As people started to shun sugar, they changed things (probably just took a few marshmallows out of each box) so that they had lower numbers.
What I remember as being particularly good was a half and half mix of Lucky Charms and Apple Jacks. Discovered as a result of only having half of a bowl of each left in the box.
I love Lucky Charms. but then again, it’s me we’re talking about.
Off Topic but I think Og may appreciate this friend of mine’s recent dillemma.
“So there I am, marching up the first hill on the edge of the South Downs,
which I use as my warm up prior to my 2 -3 times a week 2.5mile cross country
run with the dog. It takes great fortitude on my part, I have to say,
especially the morning after a late shift at work, and today was one of those
days where I had had to really push myself as it had just started to drizzle
as well.
So I get halfway up the hill, my MP3 player booming away in my ears, the dog
on the look out for rabbits, when I feel the need to do an urgent fart. No
problem, I just let it go slowly. Except someone then poured concrete into my
back passage. And my shorts felt slightly wet.
I do not fucking believe it. I’d already spent a good 20 mins on the bog
offloading before i left the house. Am I forever to be haunted by my trip to
India and my subsequent Delhi Belly?
So I ploughed into the nearest thicket, bordered with stinging nettles and
brambles, which cut my legs to buggery but which with arse cheeks clenched
against the flow I was unable to leap nimbly over in my usual manner. Fergus
the dog now thinks we’re on a proper adventure, and he’s bounding around my
legs trying to trip me up. I’ve got a pulse beating in my glutes that I have
never noticed before, and Talking Heads ‘Slippery People’ booming in my ears.
I am conscious that at 0930, my main co-ramblers are usually middle aged
female dog walkers, I am wearing a white t-shirt which is not blending into
the foliage at all well, and I am about to do the biggest shit of my life.
With no bogroll. Or a toilet. Or a door to close.
So I dropped my shorts and undies, one of my best pairs as well, grabbed hold
of a tree trunk, and leant back like a yachtsman on a tack, so as to avoid
filling my shorts good and proper. I can live with a wet patch, but a gusset
full of slurry I can do without.
Whoosh. It was like one of those pictures which get circulated on the
internet of a bloke spraying liquid shite from his arse. It went a full metre
or more across the thicket and into the undergrowth. Fuck knows where the
pressure came from, or why it even existed, when I had not eaten anything
dodgy at all for ages. Luckily Fergus had gone back to hunting out rabbits or
else he would have got quite a shock.
So then I am stuck with a wet arsehole, my shorts round my ankles, and no
means of cleaning up. Wistfully, I disengaged my ankles from my undies, and
using them like a pull through, did the business before lobbing them into the
bushes. No doubt a passing fox is chomping on them as I type. Then I noticed
a middle aged couple, talking to each other and pointing into my thicket from
about 30metres away. They can only have thought that I was some sort of
weirdo who shits in bushes while spying on passers by, which at that moment
was a fairly forgivable presumption I suppose.
What a nightmare. I aborted the run and went home, figuratively and literally
deflated.
I’ll try again in the morning….”
The subsequent photoshop relating to this is on my blog. Yeah, I have crazy mates!
Cheers
I had a not totally dissimilar experience once, when I discovered that for some unknown reason, my system is *very* sensitive to the effects of dried apricots.
I ate them as a hiking snack, and within twenty minutes the rumbling became a roar as I dove into the bushes and evacuated my entire alimentary canal in one heaping, steaming pile.
Amazing.
I avoid dried apricots like the plague now, unless I have some pressing need for a totally empty colon.
Three-Mile Island Buffalo Shrimp from Hooters after months of Army chow = a completely cleansed colon. Never before had I the need to keep flushing, simply because the shit never stopped exiting my body. It was like four months of Army chow hadn’t ever really vacated the premises, until the addition of anus-blasting spice convinced it that it needed to leave, all of it, right then and there.
I was lucky to make it back to the barracks, but then the aroma of my ten-minute constant shit stream had my barracks mates gagging from all the way down the hall. It takes a lot to make field troops gag, but I had people recoiling in horror as they opened the door from the stairwell and (breathing heaving from the climb) entering the cloud of stench that I had produced.
I must have lost a good twenty pounds in those ten minutes. Good times!