Truth is stranger than fiction. I'm in the local supermarket, in the breakfast cereal aisle, minding my own business, when I spot the latest offering from Ralston Purina breakfast cereal division. My jaw drops. I suppose I should have expected such a thing to happen sooner or later, but I'm still incredulous. I stare at the title of the box (I swear I am not making this up): "Nintendo Cereal System" I try to picture in my mind's eye what form of life could have thought this up. Images of a fat rich guy in a 3-piece suit come to mind. I still can't believe this is real. So I buy a box to see what Ralston Purina's Highly Trained Battery Of Marketing Experts has concocted to catch the eye of cute youngsters who, upon seeing the familiar logo, will whine and scream and shriek as only cute youngsters can do, shattering glass jars nine aisles away, until every single person in the store who isn't stone deaf will give the cute youngster a box just to get him to shut up. It costs $3. Oh, all right, I lied: $2.99. "Hmmm," I think to myself. "$3 to become a member of a targeted group of people, whose behavior patterns have no doubt been calculated to three hundred forty seven decimal places, making it statistically impossible for me to not buy this stuff." I get it home, and discover that it is, in fact, two boxes of cereal. Or rather, that is to say, one box of cereal with two kinds of cereal in it. Put more clearly, it is one box with two smaller bags in it. One bag contains green-and-yellow Super Mario Brothers cereal. The other contains red-yellow-and-purple Zelda cereal. Clearly, as implied by the packaging, if one were to eat Super Mario Brothers food product, one would hear a cute sound effect and grow to four times their normal size and be able to jump higher, run faster, and whine and scream and shriek even louder than before, possibly enough to force the President to order military intervention to prevent a serious conflict with the Russians. ("Yoor noo veapon iss eenterferink vith our launch detektors. Cease now or vee toast yoo.") Since I've never played Zelda, I do not know would would happen if your youngster were to eat some Zelda food product. However, I imagine the results would be no less threatening to national security. Looking at the side panel revealed an impressive array of ingredients. There were two lists; one for Mario and one for Zelda. After running 'diff' in my head, I determined that, with the exception of one ingredient, both cereals are composed of the same substances. The difference? Mario has "natural flavor," whereas Zelda has "artifical flavor." My my, those highly trained folks at Ralston Purina sure know how to come up with lucid, detailed descriptions. The side panel also gives the impression that this stuff is Highly Fortified With Vitamins, Iron, Herbs, Spices, and The Pain Reliever Doctors Recommend Most, and that one could actually derive nourishment from these crunchy multicolored bits of Advanced Food Technology if one were taken with the unlikely desire to actually eat the stuff. However, since I'm one of a rare breed of individuals, characterized by a marked tendency to do unwise things (like trying to make a living developing Amiga software), I was naturally compelled to pour myself a bowl of Nintendo Cereal System, douse it with milk, and try it. Strange. Memories of my childhood returned to me. Memories of me whining and screaming and shrieking at my own mother to buy boxes of Fruity Pebbles, Trix, and Lucky Charms. This stuff tasted exactly like those cereals that I remember. For those of you who don't remember that part of your childhood, and who don't have access to your mother to remember it for you, let me describe Nintendo Cereal System in more familiar adult terms. Sugar-Frosted Sugar-Coated Little Lumps of Sugar-Impregnated Crunchy Plastic Sponge. The surface tension on these things is so high that the milk beads up and rolls off. What little milk that does manage to penetrate the pellets undergoes strange and no doubt Highly Sophisticated And Advanced chemical reactions which would make Pons' and Fleischman's cold fusion reaction look no more complicated than boiling water. Evidence of this reaction can be seen with the naked eye by looking for the milk to start changing color. In case your children are of above average intelligence, and are able to spot this marketing ploy for what it is, then there is a backup ploy. The boxes have printed on them tips for playing Super Mario Brothers and Zelda. So, while your cute youngsters are eating this wonderous new piece of culinary engineering, they can be reading up on how to get even farther (and therefore spend more time) in Super Mario Brothers and Zelda, which they will want to try out immediately after finishing breakfast, and continue to do so until you, the concerned parent, will yell and hop up and down and throw heavy objects and insist they hurry up and get dressed or they'll be late for school again. Nintendo Cereal System. Look for it in a supermarket near you. It shouldn't be too hard to find. You'll know you're getting close when you hear the sound of whining, screaming, shrieking, shattering jars, and military maneuvers. -- Leo L. Schwab
(From the "Rest" of RHF)