Diary of a Stoner: Cereal and the Places We Love to Eat It

Cereal maka the worlda go rounda. You can eat cereal any damn time of the day. I will say that I rarely eat it for breakfast, yet I eat it at least twice a day. "Twice a day?!" you say? Yes. I believe it is an addiction. The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, right? Of course!

So...I'm admitting it. I am addicted to cereal. Gimme Cocoa Pebbles, Lucky Charms, Golden Grahams, Cinnamon Toast Crunch (Oh, this one is my baby) or the daddy of all cereals...Count Chocula and coming in at a close second, Count Chocula's bitch...Peanut Butter Crunch. Oh hell yes. A bowl of any of these is like zen. In my mouth. I will hover over my bowl of cereal like a bulimic on a food binge. I have been known to stab with my spoon.




Now the vessel that holds my cereal is another story. Most of the time it is a glass bowl, or one of those kickass plastic bowls with the straws attached so you can suck all the milk from the bottom (GENIUS!). However, I have been known to eat cereal out of coffee mugs, tupperware, pots, and one desperate time...a ziplock freezer bag. Don't be hatin' cause I know all you true stoners have at least eaten out of tupperware, because as we know, potheads are too lazy to do dishes in a timely manner.

Moving on to the places one would eat that magical bowl of heaven; I usually eat it cross legged in my "captain's chair." Let me enlighten you...the captain's chair is my chair. It is where my ass and I have spent many a night on the phone, watching tv, reading and smoking a bowl. It is my belief that everyone has a chair or at least a favorite place to sit and if not, they should get one. I have another large, squishy chair right on the left of the captain's chair with a little coffee table between the two which is imperative for keeping the bong upright and visine handy. It also has an ashtray, a drawer for my j roller, papers and the trees. I'm sure there are some remote batteries stashed away in that guy as well. The co-captain's chair, sister to the captain's chair, is where my partner in crime sits. Whoever is smoking with me, gets the chair. However, if there is more than one individual at the scene of the crime that is inhaling the chronic with myself, it goes in order of seniority. Whoever has been my friend the longest...gets it.



Now let me tell you that I have seen fist fights over this chair. The leather love seat that completes the happy family of furniture in my tiny ass living room, is like the red-headed step child. No one ever wants to sit on it. Why? I have no idea. It's real leather and comfy, but yet everyone wants the co-captain's chair. It's just something about the stained, forest green upholstery on that comfy chair...that probably smells a good bit like bong water...that just makes an ass want to call it home.

Nothing beats coming home after a shitty night at TGI Fridays, changing into PJ pants (yet another love of mine...but we'll save that for a later post) and sparkin' up the bowl in your favorite chair...followed by a container of your favorite cereal. I'm jonesin' you out right now aren't I? Stoner.

Let me leave you with this golden nugget of inspiration...

Ximinez: So you think you are strong because you can survive the soft cushions. Well, we shall see. Biggles! Put her in the Comfy Chair! ~ Monty Python and the Spanish Inquisition