If I had any true power, I’d wage a damned holy war on Kellogg’s for its Special K products alone. Seriously, you all, I would be in full mad scientist mode right now developing some formula to nuke Special K right off the supermarket shelves, and I’d do it wearing blue rubber gloves and with an intense, head-tilted-back mwahahahahaha!
Why the rage all of a sudden? Well, I found myself in the cereal aisle about a month ago. I wanted to get the Sugar Frosted Coco Bombs, but then I saw that Special K was on sale. Oh, what the hell, I thought, I’m not a child but a grown woman and plopped a box of Special K Chocolatey Delight in my basket. For the record, there is nothing chocolatey nor delightful about this cereal. It was awful. There’s this distinct, unpleasant metallic taste to Special K that no amount of waxy, faux chocolate can make up for. Do millions of women actually enjoy eating what tastes like nickels? I’m almost positive that at the end of the production line, someone stands grating metal directly into the boxes.
The next time I was at the store, I went back to the cereal aisle. I’m convinced Special K is trying to take over the world. It was bad enough when there was one variety and their slogan was that terrible “you can’t pinch an inch”. What a bunch of crap that was, eh? According to Special K, I am in dire need of their special diet. But now there are cereal bars, meal bars, snack bars, protein water, protein drinks, crackers, low fat granola, 8 cereal flavors (all of which leave a metallic aftertaste!) and their very own website designed to help you get skinny.
Trawling back through nearly forty years of vintage ads, I don’t think I’ve ever seen one Special K commercial that hasn’t made me want to hurl things at the television, write letters and boycott, with the exception of this one from 1971, which seems like some beautiful (heteronormative) alternate reality.
After my regrettable Special K purchase and the first gag-inducing bowl, I had the television on and up popped a post-holiday Special K commercial. We all know how diet commercials start up the very moment the holidays are over, don’t we? I can’t find this one online, and be thankful. In it, a woman sits with her small daughter having a tea party. There’s merry holiday music playing. The woman stands up, and the child-sized chair she is sitting in comes with her. Yes, her ass is too big for a child-sized chair! You know what that means? Special K challenge time for you, you lard butt!
Lesson: Women’s butts must not ever outgrow their five-year-old’s toy furniture.
There is danger lurking everywhere, ladies. The vending machine at work could get you!. Your male coworker’s head could turn into a popcorn popper!. That pint of chocolate ice cream you bought with every intention of eating will begin talking to you in a creepy, seductive voice and then you’ll remember you only bought it so you could NOT give into that temptation and eat a bowl of yucky cereal instead. Whatever it is you think you see, becomes a piece of food to you! And food is bad.
Lesson: Women need to fear all food but Special K, because it has issued an offensive attack on us and is a sneaky, sneaky beast set to ruin our skinny lives, or dreams of skinny lives.
Lesson: Women take and take and take, but don’t ever give.
My very favorite Special K ad at the moment is the one with the mommy making a cake with her kid. Cue the scary music as she empties the batter into the pan and is left holding a bowl filled with leftover batter. RESIST THE TEMPTATION, LADY! YOU WILL GET FATTTTTTT! Eat Special K instead. It’s so much better than delicious, delicious cake batter.
Lesson: Mommy must make the cake for her precious loved ones, but she must not enjoy a fingerful of cake batter for fear of the death-fat that will instantly produce. Also implicit is that she will not be eating the finished cake product, either.
Do you see, THL readers, just how insidious Special K is and why I hate it so? This shit has been going on for forty years. The problem is, I’ve exhausted myself too much with all this ranting to start that damned war. Instead, I think I’d better take that batch of cookies out of the oven. The one I didn’t bake for my children, because I have none. The one I didn’t bake for my SO, because I am single. The one I am not bringing to work, because I barely tolerate most of my coworkers and they don’t deserve cookies. The one I plan to eat, one cookie at a time, all by myself.
PS, I licked the bowl.